


Of Mages and Men

by InsaneSociopath



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, FrostIron - Freeform, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Jötunn Loki, Loki Hates Tony, M/M, Magic!Tony, Nightmares, Odin's A+ Parenting, Only then he doesn't, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Loki, Science Bros, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Tony is a Mage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:16:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneSociopath/pseuds/InsaneSociopath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing that Tony Stark cannot stand it's magic. If you have to break physics to get something done, then you do not do that thing. Tony likes physics. It's solid and dependable and always does what it's supposed to and has lots of nice lovely maths and equations in it. So Loki can damn well shut the hell up because Tony is not a mage, thank you very much, and he absolutely does not have a single magical bone in his body!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Good Days Go Bad

**Author's Note:**

> First Avengers fic here :)  
> Actually its my first non-original fic full stop.  
> I've tried to stick to American English in keeping with the fandom but my native Britishness will have undoubtedly snuck in here and there; forgive me if you find anything I've missed.  
> UnBeta'd so there's probably a tonne of mistakes. They're all mine though so blame me :P  
> Onwards to Magic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Thanks to free hotel wifi, now with proper line breaks and fewer doubled-up words!

Tony was having a good day.

 _A fan-fucking-tastic day_ he thought to himself as he shot through the sky over Manhattan. First he’d somehow managed to get an entire ten hours of nightmare-free sleep without having to drink himself into a stupor first. That never happened. Never! These days, Tony’s sleep options were limited to alcohol-induced-haze or passing out exhausted on a bench in his workshop after pushing himself and his inventing beyond what most people thought possible. And yet there he was, snuggled up cosily in a duvet cocoon feeling the most rested he had for months.

Things had only improved when, upon descending to the tower’s communal level, Bruce had placed a great big steaming mug of liquid ecstasy in front of him and Steve had replaced his usual disapproving frown and reprimand ( _Tony, you really have to stop drinking so much coffee, you’re far too reliant on caffeine_ ) with a cheery good morning and a plate full of homemade pancakes. Tony had decided right there and then that more gods than just ye olde thunder master must reside in his tower because Steve was clearly the god of breakfast foods.

He’d had a moment an hour later when he thought his good luck had run out when a resolved looking Pepper had interrupted his merciless teasing of everyone’s favourite bird-brain and archer extraordinaire, demanding to speak to Tony privately. Things had been strained between them after Pepper had announced one rain drenched evening that she just couldn’t take it anymore; that after the whole extremis debacle, watching him risk life and limb with the rest of the Avengers was too much and they were better off as no more (but no less either, she was adamant to point out) than friends. Tony had of course blamed himself entirely, knowing full well that he was the problem, knowing that he just wasn’t good enough to be someone’s boyfriend, partner, significant other.

Following that, it had taken both Bruce and Steve six months and an infinite amount of patience to drag Tony out of the bottom of the bottle into which he had sunk. Even now, a further eight months on, he hadn’t managed to completely quit the alcohol, turning to it regularly in attempts to drown out the terror that awaited him in his dreams ( _nightmares_ ). But it had given him a newfound appreciation for his team mates and he now took great delight in treating both men as his platonic cuddle buddies much to everyone’s embarrassment except his own. (The shade of red Steve turned whenever Tony nuzzled into the crook of his neck was particularly delicious)

So it was with some trepidation that he had followed his ex-lover back up to the penthouse suite. His bee-line for the bar with the usual rambling nonsense falling from his mouth had been cut unexpectedly short however by Pepper’s short and sharp “Tony, _please._ ” The subtle undercurrents to her tone of voice had betrayed her nervousness, the slightly raw pleading edge slipping past her usual cool façade of professionalism. He himself had almost not caught it and wouldn’t have at all if hadn’t been for their shared history from as far back as his MIT days.

As it was, he _had_ caught it, and it was enough to bring him up short and render him into silence (an occurrence so rare that anyone who managed to induce it ought to be awarded a medal).

“Pep…” his own nerves could clearly be heard in the way his voice had trailed off.

“Look Tony, it’s been months now since we… since we decided to go our separate ways.” At this point Tony had suddenly taken great interest in the tasselled edge of a red and gold cushion and Pepper had known then that she had to get out what she came here to say now, before he dropped back into the pit of depression that Steve and Bruce had so painstakingly dragged him out of.

“What we had between us was great Tony, and some of my happiest memories are of our time together-”

“But you’ve met someone else.” Even now after all their years of knowing one another, Tony had noted, she was surprised when he was able to make leaps of intuition like that. _They don’t call me a genius for nothing,_ he’d thought wistfully.

“Yes. Yes I have, Tony. He’s-”

“Are you happy?” He’d asked, cutting across her for the second time.

“We both are Tony, both Happy and I are happy.”

He’d blinked right past the revelation that the man she was seeing was his long time bodyguard, driver and friend and honed into the part where he was having feelings. _Happy feelings,_ he’d realised with wonder. Instead of the expected jealousy, anger and self-loathing, joy had surged up within him; he was _happy_ (he’d giggled internally at his own name-based pun) that two of his closest friends had found each other. He had been so busy exploring this unexpected revelation that he hadn’t seen the second one creeping up on him.

_I’m over you. I can move on._

He’d then gotten so caught up in examining that realisation that he hadn’t realised he was staring blankly at Pepper until she offered up a hesitant “Tony?” Snapping out of his self-reverie, he’d met her eyes for the first time since entering the penthouse and allowed his face to crease up into a heartfelt grin.

“That’s great, Pep!” Pulling her into his arms, he’d poured every ounce of his sincerity into those words. And then more softly “That’s really great Pepper.” If she had felt any surprise due to his sudden switch from sharp and cutting, almost jealous demeanour to happy, bubbly, grinning display of open affection, she had hidden it well and made no comment.

They’d stayed like that, wrapped contently in each other’s arms until J.A.R.V.I.S had announced that Happy was waiting down in the garage to take Pepper to a board meeting.

“Don’t bother with the meeting, lock yourselves in your office and make each other _happy instead!_ ” He’d called after her, convinced that that joke was never going to grow old. The elevator doors hadn’t quite closed quickly enough for him to miss her exasperated sigh and so it was that he had descended back down to the common floor with a lightness to his step and a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

He had returned to tormenting Clint, now with the aid of Natasha, sure that his day just couldn’t get any better. Not even the sudden blaring of the tower’s alarms just before mid-afternoon had dampened his high spirits; his enthusiastic cry of “Aw hella yes!” in answer to Steve’s commanding “Avengers Assemble!” had been met by confused and disbelieving looks from both assassins (or as much of one as Natasha had ever shown) and a bemused one from their resident not-yet-a-green-rage-monster. Or maybe that was because his reaction to J.A.R.V.I.S’s announcement that Dr. Doom and a small army of Doombots was blowing up midtown was to launch himself arms wide from the back of the couch with a whoop and scurry off to his workshop to grab his under suit and the Mark-41, ranting about upgrades and magic and gesticulating wildly.

So it was that Tony was now soaring high above the skyscrapers of New York, jauntily whistling AC/DC into the comms (“Seriously, Tinman, cut it out!” “Mwahaha! Never, Legolas!”) thoroughly looking forward to debuting his brand new and shiny and _completely awesome, Capsicle, just completely awesome!_ Double-V unit.

“What the hell kind of name is Double-V anyway, Robo-butt? And what the hell does it do?” Tony laughed at Hawkeye’s latest nickname for him and barrel rolled through a flock of startled pigeons.

“Well, Katniss,” he snarked back, “Double-V is short for Voodoo-Vanquisher, and what it does is create resonant inductive coupling using an oscillating high-amp alternating current and the resultant induced magnetic field to produce a near-field interference zone which will forcibly displace specific energy signatures.”

The comm line is filled with the quiet crackle of silence.

“I don’t get it.”

Tony thought it was a terrible shame no-one could see the pseudo-outraged look that was currently contorting his features.

“Bruuuuceyyy, can I hit the Bird-Brain? He clearly doesn’t need the brain cells. I dumbed it down so his feeble intelligence could cope and everything and he still doesn’t appreciate my genius. ‘Cuz I am, you know, a genius.” You could almost hear Bruce’s eye roll.

“What? That didn’t make a lick of sense!”

“It so did!”

“Did not science-whore!”

“Hey! Don’t bring the good lady Science into this. You’re just jealous because Science is getting some and you’re not!”

“How am I not getting any? _Natasha,”_ Clint whined through his mic, “Tell his royal relationshipless that I’m not the one not getting any!”

Sensing that the conversation was about to enter territory that everybody on the rag-tag team of heroes except Natasha (who would _thoroughly_ enjoy it) would sincerely regret, Steve chose that moment to cut across Ironman’s mixture of protestations and _damn-right-I’m-a-royals_ and sternly remind everyone that the Avengers’ channel was for work purposes only and to leave their childish rivalry for a more appropriate time. Reprimanding complete, he went on to request everyone’s ETA for Doom’s location. Hopefully reminding everyone of the task at hand would put an at least temporary end to the inappropriate banter.

“Just over a minute out, Spangles; I can see his merry swarm of flying scrap already. Man, those things are such a crime against engineering.”

“The Man of Iron is but a few yards in front of me, Son of Rogers.”

“The rest of us are another minute behind. Thor, Ironman, work on containment. Stop the destruction from spreading any further than it already has. Hawkeye, the usual drill; get a nest and call from afar. Widow, you and I work from below. Our priority is crowd control. Minimum civilian casualties. Bruce, you can hold back for now. We should be able to handle this without the other guy, but keep the line to us open in case we need to call you in.”

Tony knew even before he heard the team’s vocal affirmations that Bruce was more than happy with that decision. They’d made some serious progress where the other guy was concerned over the last three years, getting him to follow basic orders (lift that up, protect those civilians, and his all-time favourite, Smash!) and mostly getting him to recognise the difference between friend and foe, but they were still working on minimising the massive amounts of structural and property damage that occurred whenever Bruce allowed the Hulk out to ‘play’. Tony himself wasn’t particularly bothered by the destruction as New York and its citizens had out of necessity, gotten very good at quickly and efficiently dealing with the aftermath of supervillain attacks and all that comes with them and then continuing on with their lives as if nothing had happened. Right up until the next attack, at which point they would collectively sigh and start the cycle all over again. But he did fully understand that minimising said damage also meant minimising time spent in pointless, tedious, timewasting, pathetic, useless, boring, boring, _boring_ debriefings in which Fury would rant and rave about collateral damage and repair costs and good publicity and just generally be, well, _furious._

Repressing a shudder at the thought of the inevitable debriefing that would follow this latest Doom-based debacle (he would _not_ let that ruin his mood, _absolutely not_ ), Tony swung down and banked hard around the monstrosity of lawyer firm’s ‘Vargon and Sons’ building (seriously, that thing was ugly - even Steve said that Tony’s own tower was a graceful and beautiful piece of architecture in comparison) (Although Avenger Tower was both graceful and beautiful even without comparisons _thank you very much, Steven_ ) and barrelled straight into his first metal victim of the day, repulsors flaring.

“And now, ladies, gentlemen and baby bird assassin wannabes, the fun begins,” Tony smirked to himself and set about blasting Doom-bots to pieces. Clint’s answering indignant squawk was like music to his ears. 

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

 

Loki was bored.

Hopelessly, horrendously bored.

And the only thing he hates more than boredom is people telling him what to do. Boredom even ranked above Thor’s rib crushing hugs. And when Loki gets bored people suddenly remember that he bears the epithet ‘God of Mischief’ for a reason.

It had been over eighteen months since he’d escaped from the depths of Asgard’s cell block. Odin and the other Ǽsir had rather foolishly believed his magic fully sealed away rather than merely highly dampened. And so Loki had slowly, oh so slowly, pooled his energy inch by agonising inch into a well-crystal hidden within his own personal dimensional fold. Months had passed before enough energy had been collected for Loki to slip silently into the paths between realms, skip across the branches of Yggdrasil and ease himself back out into the realm he would be least expected to return to. Midgard. 

Free of both his gaol cell and the oppressive, controlling haze of the Tesseract and _him,_ Loki had begun the labouring process of restoring his magic resources back up to full capacity. Drained as he was, he would have been incapable of batting down a fly let alone facing whatever those pitiful mortals, those so called ‘Avengers’ could scrape together to defend their equally pitiful and backwater realm from his wrath. And so he had resigned himself to waiting and planning, hidden in the shadows.

What he had not been expecting was to grow to _like_ said backwater realm. Oh, he knew he was still far superior to the majority of the pathetically short-lived Midgardians. But they were certainly _interesting._ They scuttled here and there, a never-ending race against time, full of a drive to do something, anything to make their short lives -gone in the blink of a God’s eye- mean something. And because of this the entire realm was constantly in upheaval, an ever changing twisted mass of change, of beautiful barely controlled _chaos._ And Loki adored it.

So Loki found his plans for revenge changing, moving away from destruction and mayhem and shifting instead towards his namesake; Mischief and Chaos. Thus followed a string of traps and tricks designed with no purpose other than to annoy and infuriate. Every inch of plant life within the city’s so-called ‘central park’ suddenly became purple in colouration; an entire building of what he later learned to be politicians were temporarily turned into Pomeranians; every billboard within the city limits depicting one or more members of New York’s superhero teams altered so that those shown were now relived of their clothing.

Unfortunately the latter of those had backfired somewhat, when a group of teenagers began a campaign to leave the posters in their altered state and gained the backing of a humongous number of so called ‘fangirls’. While the embarrassment this caused for the majority of the team members was hilarious, (Tony Stark, Loki noted with some irritation, shamelessly began actively encouraging the youthful imbeciles) it had the unexpected knock-on effect of creating him a group of near fanatical supporters calling themselves ‘Loki’s Army’. It had taken all of two days for Loki’s feelings on the matter to change from pleasure that he was essentially being worshipped, to extreme irritation that he could no longer walk even the half mile down the road to his favourite bookstore without being swamped by adoring fans begging for autographs and favours and _items of his clothing._ Worse of all, his cutting and scathing remarks and generally unpleasant attitude only seemed to _encourage_ them.

Eventually the billboards were removed and the hysteria died down (much to Stark’s disappointment, as the infuriating mortal repeatedly told him during one particular skirmish/flyting match) and he was able to return to his more normal schedule of mischief making.

It had only been two weeks since his latest scheme had fallen to ruins. The plan had been simple; knock down Stark a few pegs and force him to experience some of the embarrassment the rest of the Avengers had. His plan to achieve this was to change his famous armour’s red and gold hues to that of a vibrant pink mid-battle. Much to his chagrin, upon completing the transformation the Man of Iron had taken one look at his new colour scheme and loudly declared, using whatever technology within his armour enhanced the volume of his speech, that he was supporting some campaign called ‘cancer research’. When Loki’s reaction to yet another Stark-based failure had been to begin methodically shattering every window and glass based structure in sight, Stark had proceeded, with Thor’s aid, to nigh on fry Loki with overcharged lightning channelled through his armour, and somehow gained yet even more loyal supporters to the Avengers cause.

So now it was, after being able to do little more than heal some truly horrific burns for days on end, that Loki was restlessly pacing back and forth through the apartment he had ‘acquired’, wondering what chaos he could cause to relieve himself of this all-encompassing, mind numbing _boredom._

An explosion rang out across the city.

Loki smiled and teleported across town, pausing only to acquire some Midgardian popcorn. 

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

 

The good mood that had kept him on a high all day was fading rapidly.

He was hot, sweaty and just generally bothered. And not in the good way.

For nearly three hours now, Tony and the rest of the Avengers had been relentlessly crushing and disabling the seemingly endless wave of Doom-bots. The suit was chafing, sweat was running into his eyes, his left hand repulsor was malfunctioning making flying unnecessarily difficult, a crushed plate on his right leg was slowly gauging a hole into his shin every time he was forced to bank clockwise, they’d had to bring Bruce and the other guy into the fray, and if Clint whined one more goddamn time about his lack of ammo Tony was gonna go over there and provide the little bitch with arrows made from his own finger bones.

Oh, he was so going to snap Doom’s neck with his own villainous green robes as soon as his cowardly ass deigned to actually show up to the fight. Yep, he’d do that right after unleashing the full fury of the Double-V (which he still hadn’t gotten to test) upon the pathetic Latverian son of a bitch.

“Cap, any sightings of our least favourite mask wearing fucking asshole yet?”

“No, Ironman,” Steve responded tiredly, not even bothering to reprimand his swearing at this point, “no one has seen him since the last time you asked five minut-”

“He’s on the spire of the Chrysler building.” A surprised silence followed.

“You sure Widow?”

“None of the other bots are cackling like a maniac while spewing nonsense about their supposed superiority in the third person,” she deadpanned back. Tony smirked in his helmet.

“Well I’ll be damned. How about I go give him a welcome party?”

“In the name of all you deem holy Stark, please own his ass.”

“I wouldn’t have phrased it the way Hawkeye just did, but by all means, please feel free to do so Ironman.”

“Wow Capsicle, you must be really beat if you’re actually encouraging me to do this. I’m gonna give you the biggest and best snuggling time ever when we get back, cheer you back up. That’s a Tony Stark promise Cap, genuine through and through.” Tony rambled, finishing off the last bot in his vicinity and streaking off towards Lexington Avenue.

“Tony, I’m supposed to be at the children’s hospital right now with an eight year old boy who’s having open heart surgery tonight. Just get it done.” Under normal circumstances, Tony would have taken the opportunity to wind up Steve with his endless charity work, but even he, in all his insensitiveness, knew that now was not the time.

 

“We’ll get you to him Cap,” he said instead. And for once he actually meant that as a serious promise. “Dr. Doomed still up top of Chrysler?” 

“He’s hovered down to that flat roofed building on Lex next to that bank the Wrecking Crew tried for last month. I’ve got eyes on him.”

“Got him, Hawk. Watch my back while I deal with today’s menace of the month. You got him locked on, J.A.R.V.I.S?”

“Affirmative sir, though I may add that your power is currently lowered to 32%. I advise that you avoid utilising higher energy weaponry such as the uni-beam until a recharge is possible sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, J. No bringing the big guns to this shindig.”

“Sir, the only ‘shindig’ currently in the area is the section of suit exoskeleton currently lodged into the front of your lower right leg.”

“J! I’m supposed to be the snarkmaster round here!”

“Of course, sir.” Tony wondered not for the first time which part of J.A.R.V.I.S’s coding had allowed him to develop what closely resembled sarcasm. Whatever; as a fully Stark-certified person, J was allowed to be sarcastic.

Doom was still planted on the centre of the rooftop as Tony came rocketing down towards him. Time to bring out the classics he thought as he slammed to a halt 10 metres away, one fist and knee bracing him in his infamous landing pose. Smirk again fixed to his face, he rose up into his standard offensive stance, arms raised and repulsors already charging, Double-V energised and ready to deploy. And found himself frozen.

“Uh guys, little help?” He stammered over the comms, an edge of panic creeping into his voice.

“Stark?” came the Captain’s tense reply.

“I’m stuck, literally stuck. The only thing I can move is my vocal chords.” The panic was more than an edge now, memories of being trapped immobile in the suit in the void on the other side of the portal coming crashing back. He knew he was hyperventilating, knew his heart was hammering too hard against the casing of the arc-reactor, could hear both Steve and J.A.R.V.I.S calmly trying to talk him down to no avail, could hear Doom expounding on his own greatness and cleverness, but he couldn’t pull himself out of his own fear crazed mind.

Then the pain started.

And Tony started screaming.

The suit was disintegrating around him, lumps flaking away as though it were rusting (Which it shouldn’t, because hello, titanium alloy!). He was vaguely aware of this through the mist of pain and panic clouding his vision, could feel the cool November breeze flowing over the skin of his now exposed arms and feet. The HUD fell away from his vision and with it went the ever calm presence of J.A.R.V.I.S and the hysterical calls of the other Avengers. The suit was burning around him, burning along with his very being _and why did it hurt so much._

Usually when Tony experienced an anxiety attack of this magnitude (they were few and far between but they did happen) pain became a secondary concern, but this, this could not be ignored. This was _agony._ In fact, this was _beyond_ agony. Every fibre of his being was screaming, his body visibly shaking in retaliation of the pain wracking through him. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t even think through the white-out of chronically abused nerve endings. He couldn’t even tell if he was still screaming or not.

Only a few stubborn segments of the suit were clinging to his convulsing back now, his already limited vision greying out around the edges. Tony was pretty sure he’d died a few times before now (the caves, blasting Stane with the reactor, _the void_ ) but never before now had it felt as awful as _this._ He was also sure that never before had he clung to the shredding remains of life quite so desperately as he was right now. Even through the wash of panic clouding his thoughts, he was resolute. He refused _point blank_ to end this way, for his life to conclude immobilised and unable to retaliate. _Tony Stark did_ not _go down without a fight._

His eyes met with Loki’s across the rooftop.

He had no idea when the Trickster had appeared or where he’d appeared from, no idea how he was even registering Loki’s presence in the first place. Tony met his eyes, and his fear and panic were replaced with sheer terror.

They’d fought Loki a few times over the last year and half since his (according to Thor, apparently anticlimactic) escape from Asgard. Only his very first invasion, the one responsible for bringing the Avengers together originally, had done any real damage with anything following being nothing more than, well, scaled up practical jokes and mischievous _pranks._ Tony of course (much to Steve’s dismay) thought that the antics of the trickster god were hysterically entertaining and had placed him at the top of his Villainous Cool Wall in the communal kitchen. (The wall itself was another source of Steve-dismay)

Throughout those various meetings and clashes, Tony had seen a wide variety of Loki’s facial expressions; from amused to bored through to furious, via (usually Stark-induced) highly irritated and everything else in-between. But never before had he seen fear shining out of the Space Viking’s eyes.

Those fearful eyes pierce into him, deep and green and glowing. And Tony suddenly knew real fear. 

Doom is still posed dramatically in front of him, utilising a classic ‘evil villain laugh’ to full effect but Tony barely registers his presence at all, his entire attention focused on the lone Jötunn behind him, hands pressed up against the sickly green energy barrier domed over Doom and himself. A particularly violet spasm ricochets through him, and the immobilising field must give way slightly because it’s enough to drive him to his knees. But he never breaks eye contact.

Loki is speaking to him now. He can see his lips moving but he can’t concentrate on the words being said. He tries, he wants to know what the words are, wants to know what caused the fear contorting Loki’s features. But the agony coursing through him is still corrupting his ability to focus too much _and he can’t work out what Loki is saying._

The others are with Loki now. They register briefly in his peripheral vision, each of them shouting words he can’t hear, arms waving and making vain attempts to break through the barrier. Only Loki himself is remaining stationary, repeating that one word over and over. _One word?_ Tony thinks, _what is it?_

He hones in on that word, forcing his brain to prioritise the understanding of it over registering further pain. He needs to know what Loki is so desperately trying to tell him.

_Stark_  
 _Stark_  
Stark!

“Loki...” he whispers back. ( _huh, guess I stopped screaming then_ )  
 _Stark. I’m sorry…_

Sorry? Loki’s sorry? Sorry for what? He’s sorry for Tony? Why? Sorrow? Sympathy? Pity? Oh hell no! Nobody pities Tony Goddamn Stark! Tony Goddamn Stark doesn’t do pity! Least of all from Loki of all people!

He’s angry now. How dare Doom ruin his perfect day? How dare Doom trap him here and obliterate his new shiny Double-V _and_ the entirety of his favourite suit? How dare he hold him here against his will and inflict searing and life threatening pain of this magnitude? And how dare Loki stand there after everything he’s done and tell Tony that he’s sorry that he’s about to die?

He’s so furious with Loki for that he reaches out and pulls him through the barrier. 

Three seconds later it registers that he’s still paralysed and there was no physical action involved in the pulling and Loki’s just stood there with this look of pure shock and what the fuck did I just do? 

No, seriously though, _what the actual fuck?_ Tony hates magic, fucking hates the physics-defying, science-ignoring, irrational, screwed up _fuckery_ that is magic. So no, he did not just use magic. Because magic is another thing that Tony Stark just does not do. Magic is the domain of those asshole cheaters like Amora and Doom and Loki who are just too stupid to do it properly with maths and physics and good solid engineering. Magic and Tony do not mix down as far as on a quantum level.

Then Loki suddenly recovers from his surprise and he’s pouncing on Doom with that long golden staff of his and forest green sparks dripping from his hands. Which Tony is really extremely very pleased about because, not-magic aside, _still dying here guys._ This fact is pulled back to the top of Tony’s mental list of priorities by the return of the now familiar jaw-clenching convulsions and a fresh wave of pain-induced blindness.

He’s not sure what happens next. He thinks maybe the immobilising field is gone, but he can’t be certain because he really has no clue about anything happening in his surroundings. And maybe someone catches him as he pitches forward because those might be hands supporting his weight. But honestly he just doesn’t know, because his mind is finally still and all the lights have gone out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should also apologise for my blatant abuse of physics. I do have a physics A-level and my University Degree is very science orientated so I have a fair idea of what all those terms actaully mean. But there's still no denying that i just stuck a random bunch of electromagnetic induction terms into the same sentence and hoped for the best. If anybody is interested in the actual science behind that nonsense you can get a basic overview here: [Resonant Inductive Coupling](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Resonant_inductive_coupling)
> 
> Uni starts back up in less than a week so may be a while before i get another chapter out. I'll do my best folks :)


	2. Eyes, Voices and Steves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a bunch of Steve.  
> And some more Tony too.  
> Maybe even some answers?  
> (Or maybe just more questions?)
> 
>  
> 
> And oh man did the first section of this fight me all the way. eugh.

Tony is thrashing against the bed. He opens his eyes and there’s a man staring down at him. The man’s mouth is moving. Somewhere in the distance the steady beat of a heart monitor falters. It flatlines with a single endless note.

\-------------------------------------------------

The ceiling above him is moving. It flows past in a rapid succession of harsh white hall lights. There are voices all around him. The voices have eyes and faces.

"Smithson! Make sure ICU is prepped for dealing with serious 3rd degree burns!" yells one.  
"He's arresting again!" screams another.

"Hold on Tony!" he hears last of all.

\-------------------------------------------------

This time his world is a wash of gold shot through with arc reactor blue. The energy roars around him and he knows he needs to make it stop.

"We have to get this thing out of his chest!" the first voice this time is commanding.

"Doctor no!" and "You can't, he'll die!" and "Don't touch it!" are cried out together.

"But it's affecting his physiology! We can't treat these chest burns until we stop the changes!"

"The alterations are a by-product of Stark's awakening magic you incompetent fool! They’re not at all related to the blue Midgardian device imbedded within him. Touch it not and cease considering yourself a learned man in the future if this is the pitiful extent of your knowledge." The hissing of that voice resonates with the golden energy. It’s unsettling and the gold doesn't like it.

"As cutting as the words of my brother can be, Loki's knowledge of the arts of magic are unrivalled by all in the nine realms. You would do well by the Man of Iron to heed his advice."

"I am not your broth-!"

He doesn’t like the shouting. He closes his eyes and forces the gold away. A fading cacophony of panicked and angry shouting echoes through the deepening darkness. He smiles as it all goes quiet again.

\-------------------------------------------------

He’s out of the darkness again.

"Stark look at me!"

He doesn't want to look. The energy in him does strange things if it sees that voice. He wants to go back to the black.

"Stark! by the Norns look at me!"

There are swirls and ripples of green energy encasing the gold and blue. It’s oddly comforting. He frowns.

"Stark you stupid pathetic mortal you have to look at me! Your magic is out of control!"

Dead men without magic don't have to do anything he thinks.

"Tony please!"

He looks then into those vibrant orbs of green and thinks to himself _I've seen those eyes before._

The gold and blue sings.

\-------------------------------------------------

She looms over him, the woman all in black. There are others in the room. They crowd back away from her. A skeletal hand reaches out towards him and slides into his hair.

 _That spell is forbidden_ says her voice in his mind. _That spell is forbidden, my merchant, because death is mine to claim. And now another hangs in your balance._

And when he looks into her eyes he sees the endless black of the universe he decides he likes the black of unconsciousness better.

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Steve had long since decided that the twenty-first century was strange and confusing enough without the added complication of Norse Gods and magic. In his time battling Hydra and their cosmic cube fuelled weapons, he’d seen some things. But the future, now that was on a whole other level. It’s full of tiny hand-held portable phones and fast-than-sound-travel and microwaves and journeys to the moon and colour TV and portable film reels that anyone can use at home as if their own front rooms are cinemas and a thousand other things that Steve’s imagination could never have conjured in his wildest dreams. 

And just when he'd thought that he was finally getting used to seeing all these kind of things, (he’ll just ignore the part where he still has no idea how to use any of this stuff and no clue how it works) along had come Fury with his flying battleship to tell him that the Gods of legends have stolen Hydra’s secret weapon to build inter-dimensional portals and like to yell about denied brotherhood and wave impossible hammers around. 

That same day he’d also met this super smart scientist fella’ who’s usually all quiet and calm but then when he gets angry, turns all green and giant and dangerous and _terrifying._ Steve had decided he liked the unobtrusive doctor but he’s understandably nervous about his other guy.

The two assassins that had also joined them are - in Steve’s military minded outlook – actually one of the more normal aspects of this strange new world. He’s familiar with their roles in both battle and in the wider world and it’s often a comfort to find himself working alongside people who can understand his tactics and methods as well as any of his old team, the Howling Commandoes. 

But surprisingly the most unusual occurrence of Steve’s introduction to the modern era so far had been first learning of and later meeting the only son and child of his old friend and sometimes-comrade-in-arms Howard Stark. Anthony Edward Stark, he soon realises, is both everything and nothing like his father and the similarities and differences align in such a manner as to infuriate Steve past the edge of reason. 

Where Steve likes order and precision and finely planned details, Stark goes about surrounded by a permanent whirlwind of self-created chaos. Where Steve trusts in authority and the bigger picture, Stark is the very embodiment of dissent and disobedience. What Steve is, Stark isn’t. 

It’s predictable then that their clashing personalities would result in both men leaving their first encounter with an absence of fond feelings for one another. 

During the brief period of calm following the Battle of New York, Steve had decided that his initial assessment of Tony may have been overly harsh and more than a little judgemental. (if flying a nuclear missile _by hand_ into a portal to outer space with a near zero percent chance of return wasn’t a sacrifice play then he really doesn’t know what is) But then after two weeks of occupying the same living space as the guy he’s again pretty sure that arrogant, selfish, disrespectful and over-privileged is exactly what Tony is. 

It’s four weeks later when the ever increasing tension between them suddenly breaks in the form of an almighty row. 

Steve really regrets a lot of the things that were said that night. He’d just been so angry, so furious with Tony that he hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t stopped to register the look of betrayal and devastation on his face where there should have been rage and frustration. So he’d said _a lot_ of stuff that he really wishes he could take back; scathing remarks about his rate of alcohol consumption, sleeping habits and his seeming lack of commitment, snide comments on his inability to feed himself regularly, to concentrate on anything for more than 30 seconds, to remember to attend meetings and debriefings and some truly heartless comparisons of him to Howard. But if there’s one thing Steve really hates himself for it’s ever uttering the words ‘disappointment to your father’. 

The effect on Tony had been instantaneous. His shoulders had drooped, his head dropped and with a single muttered “yeah I know” he’d turned his back on the team and the argument, scurried into the elevator and disappeared out of sight while they were all still reeling from the sudden change. 

Fortunately and unfortunately for Steve, Pepper had chosen that minute to enter the room. 

It’s fortunate because he’d finally gotten the explanation of Stark’s attitude he’d been attempting to obtain for weeks now. It’s unfortunate because he’d never before heard a tone of voice so layered with quietly seething murderous rage as the one she used to say “Take that back.” 

He’d known right then he’d done something seriously wrong. 

One terrifying Pepper-lecture later (Steve’s first and he really, really hopes last) and he had nervously shuffled down the stairs to Tony’s workshop, praying that the genius hadn’t taken a nose dive into a bottle or done something equally reckless while he’d been learning just how badly he’d messed up. 

How could he have been so blind, so darn oblivious? It was obvious once he’d started looking back at the last month and a half they’d spent together that Tony’s issues weren’t the kind that formed without some kind of history of abuse or neglect. That the majority of the blame could be laid at the feet of Steve’s old friend and Tony’s father, Howard, had come as an unhappy surprise and had left him nauseous with guilt. 

He’d stood motionless beside the glass of the workshop door, staring off unseeing into space, thoughts a scrambled blame-fuelled mess, for several long minutes before J.A.R.V.I.S had finally managed to alert Tony to his presence and to Steve’s further shame, coerced him into drunkenly stumbling over to the stairwell. ‘Father’, ‘asshole’, and ‘disappointment’ were the only words that Steve had been able to pick out from the otherwise incoherent mumbling falling from Tony’s lips before a fresh wave of regret had prompted him to scoop the protesting engineer up into his arms and carry him up towards the elevator shaft. 

He had lost count of how many times during that short trip upstairs that he’d softly spoken various apologies against the top of billionaire’s head who had at some point firmly pressed his face into Steve’s shoulder. So desperate for the physical affection he’d lacked as a child was he, that drunken-Tony had had none of the inhibitions against clinging to Steve’s muscled frame that sober-Tony would have had. He’d been gripping so tightly to him that once they’d reached the bedroom in Tony’s penthouse suite that it had taken every ounce of Steve’s serum-enhanced strength to pry him loose and get him settled on the bed. 

Leaving the door propped open, Steve had then spent the night camped out on the sofa, barely sleeping for worry.

When Tony had finally emerged the following morning, shuffling purposely towards the kitchenette, Steve had done nothing more than place his usual cup of coffee in front of him and offer up a weak smile before retreating to his own rooms and leaving the genius with the privacy he so obviously desired. (but not without first extracting a promise from the ever watchful J.A.R.V.I.S to alert him at the first sign of trouble) After his Pepper given Tony-education the previous night, he was all too aware it wasn’t his place to do more. 

The months that followed had been far from comfortable but were at least free of the tense atmosphere that had surrounded them before. Neither of them mentioned the night Steve had spent guarding Tony’s door and neither of them commented on Tony’s suddenly improved meeting attendance rates nor Steve’s lack of complaining about the still too frequent times he arrived late or didn’t show up at all. And if he’d also noticed that there must be more behind Tony’s continued excessive drinking and lack of sleep besides the usual trust issues, well he knew better than to mention that too.

The real turning point had occurred not long after Tony had single-handedly dealt with a maniac calling himself The Mandarin, (who apparently turned out to be a front for an even more insane fella’ named Aldrich Killian) saved the President _and_ Pepper and then in only a hand full of days, perfected the genetics-altering Extremis serum that a group of highly intelligent leading experts had spent _years_ trying to fix all while the rest of the Avengers were scrambling around madly, completely unable to catch up to the mad genius inventor, let alone _keep up_ with him.

For a week after he’d managed to remove the Virus from Pepper’s system, Tony had ridden on a wave of enthused success and had been the happiest that Steve had ever seen him. He’d set about rebuilding his Malibu mansion, given J.A.R.V.I.S a whole new set of upgrades, fiddled with the Iron Patriot suit (Natasha was silently furious – the emotion visible only in the minute twitching of her left eye - that Tony’s old best friend had managed to track Stark down where she had failed) so that Rhodey could now perform most minor repairs himself, and planned this whole extravagant operation involving the finished version of Extremis to remove the arc reactor.

Then Pepper had decided to call it a day.

Steve shouldn’t blame her, not really, for what happened next. But from every angle that he tried to view it, all he could conclude was that none of it would have happened if Pepper had just held it together just long enough for Tony’s over-enthusiasm to naturally die down a little bit first, stayed with him long enough to lessen the height from which he was about to fall.

Because when he did fall, it was with a hell of a bang. 

The drinking that Steve had already been classifying as excessive became completely out of control. He stopped sleeping and eating nearly altogether, his diet consisting of little more than scotch and caffeine. The only times he was ever seen outside of his workshop had been on the nights Steve or Bruce had carried his unconscious body back up to his bed and in the mornings after when he had dragged himself back down into his self-imposed isolation. He’d started ignoring the mission alarm, stopped attending meetings and briefings altogether. The weekly movie and game nights had continued with the absence of their initial instigator. He had sunken into a pit of depression so complete that not even Bruce (armed with science projects and experiment results) had been able to draw him out of his shell. 

When the second week of this was drawing to a close and no end had been in sight, Steve had put aside his reservations and called Pepper. 

“Miss Potts?” he’d asked hesitantly when she’d finally picked up the phone. 

“Rogers? Is there a problem?”

He’d paused, unsure how to proceed.

“Well miss, it’s just that Stark has been acting a little more, um, isolationist than usual and we’re, erm, starting to worry about him.” 

A sigh had followed and then, “He’s drinking none stop, barely sleeping and doing little more than constantly working down in that adult playpen he calls a workshop, correct? Steve, this is exactly why I left. He needs time to find out who he is for himself without trying to be someone he’s not for my sake. Just give him another week and he’ll get over it. It’s not like this have never happened before.”

For a short while, he’d been reassured. Colonel Rhodes too had confirmed that sometimes Tony just needed a few days to get his head straight and that nothing serious or long term would come of it. Besides, both he and Pepper and even Mr. Hogan, Tony’s chauffeur, had been surprised that nothing out of the ordinary like this had happened since he’d returned from Afghanistan and they’d all been wondering for some time when the next occurrence would be. 

When two more weeks had passed with no improvement, Steve had decided he agreed with Barton’s assessment of “They clearly don’t know shit.”

So they’d gathered round the kitchen table one night (sans Rhodey and Pepper who were away on a classified mission and refusing to come to the tower except for work purposes respectively) and begun formulating a plan to save the genius from himself. 

Bruce had been midway through an explanation of how he’d been tricking the engineer into occasionally eating when a concerned sounding J.A.R.V.I.S (They all still marvelled at how Tony had somehow given a computer the ability to display emotion) had cut him off to inform them that his creator’s heart rate had fallen dangerously low and would they please descend to the workshop and see to sir’s welfare.

Steve and Bruce had been up and off in an instant, taking the stairs down two or three at a time; for J.A.R.V.I.S to be able to override Tony’s standing order to leave everyone uninformed as to his state of wellbeing, something must be seriously wrong. 

They found him collapsed on the floor with his heart stopped.

Thankfully due to both Bruce’s medical training and the speedy arrival of a paramedic crew, they were quickly able to get his condition stabilised and get enough fluids in him to prevent the worst of the side effects.

“Alcohol poisoning,” Bruce had informed them tiredly as they sat in the hospital’s waiting room, “he’d drunk nearly twice as much as is safe for even someone as tolerant as Tony is.”

When the hospital had released him the next day, Barton and Romanov together with J.A.R.V.I.S’s help had already removed every bottle of alcohol they could find from the tower. 

It hadn’t hindered Tony in the slightest. 

Six further failed attempts at tower alcohol clearance, three more hospital trips, two attempts by Thor to obtain magical assistance from his home realm, one case of deliberate self-harm and four months of Bruce and Steve barely leaving Tony’s side and even James Rhodes, long used to his best friends ways, had been at his wit’s end. 

The night of the Stanley knife incident Steve had finally broken down under the stress and cried into Tony’s chest, leaning over him from his place beside yet another hospital bed. 

Whatever Steve had said to him through the tears and the sobs wracking his body must have had some effect though; the following night instead of holing himself down in his workshop, he’d curled up between Bruce and Steve in front of the T.V and then later allowed the two of them to put him to bed. For the first time in months Steve had smiled. 

From then on up things had slowly begun regaining their previous equilibrium. The drinking didn’t (and probably never would) stop completely, but it became manageable again. He’d started joining them for team meals again, started allowing either Steve or Bruce to drag him to bed to stop him from over working, went back to joining Bruce in his lab for ‘Science Bro’ sessions. He’d scrapped the plan to remove the arc reactor, but he’d ensured that everyone on the team had access to syringes of Extremis for all-else-has-failed situations involving team members suffering injuries they wouldn’t otherwise survive. Four weeks later, a full six months since the breakup and Steve had finally allowed Tony to be re-added to the patrol roster. 

Tony, overjoyed by this news and claiming that being grounded and denied access to his suits had been driving him stir-fry crazy, had proceeded to throw his arms around Steve and pin him to the couch. Thus had followed the first uncomfortable occurrence of what Tony would later refer to as ‘Steve snuggle sessions’. 

To this day, both Steve and Bruce (who is now regularly subjected to ‘Brucey hugs’) are unsure how to react whenever Tony invades their personal space. Both men had agreed out of Tony’s earshot that despite copious rumours to the contrary, their respective relationships with the inventor could never be more than friendships given their histories with him. (Too many Howard Stark/Captain-America issues with Steve, and the other guy put a dampener on any and all of Bruce’s romantic interests.) (Not to mention that both men were highly adamant that they were completely one hundred percent straight.) (and Steve didn’t understand why he was constantly having to reiterate that fact, he _was_ completely straight not matter what anybody wished or said.)

So Steve was happy that Tony was on the road to recovery, happy that the trying times of constant worry and the whole negative experience was behind them. 

But it could also be said that despite the stress and the friendship-straining nature of the whole ordeal, the Avengers had all become closer for it. Before they had only been a team of friends. Now they were a family who protected their own. 

It showed in both their day to day life at the tower and during their frequent missions and battles. Everything that happened in the field had become tighter knit, more fluid, more effective. Within Avengers Tower it showed in more subtle ways. Clint and Natasha had stopped taking on so many Shield assignments post-Pepper-breakup so that they could help Steve and Bruce with Tony, but afterwards they never went back to their old routine. Thor’s trips through the Bifrost to see his friends and family became less and less frequent until he was practically living in the tower full time. And Bruce and Tony, well they started inviting Steve to join in with their Science Bro projects despite the fact he never had a single clue what they were trying to show him. 

Then when Rhodey came by one day and pointed out that Steve was closer with Tony than he ever had been and that it was painfully obvious he was no longer the best friend, well nobody tried to contradict him.

They were facing the world together, super villains, toasters, Nick Furys and all.

So Doctor Doom could try whatever he liked, Steve was always going to protect Tony and the other Avengers because any stand up gentlemen worth his salt protects his family. If that meant sleeping besides a hospital bed while warily eying the God of Mischief night after night, then, to quote Tony, _He damn well fucking would_

\-----------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*--------------------------------------------

Tony blinks through the searing white scorching his retinas and wakes up in a hospital room to the steady beeping of equipment. The first thing he registers is that he’s facing his best friend and team captain, who’s slumbering fitfully on a small worn and battered couch, bags under his eyes, face unwashed and his hair and clothes rumpled. 

Tony wonders why he is here.

“Stark. Finally awake I see.” Tony knows that voice. It’s cool and dark and velvety, like wisps of smoke drifting across a black expanse of still water in the light of a full moon. It’s also full of barely disguised loathing and it immediately sets him on edge.

He tries to turn towards the owner of the voice, to provide himself with some visual evidence so that he can either confirm or deny his fears. But his neck is stiff, his whole body protesting against completing the small movement. He tries to groan his displeasure but all that comes out is a cracked breathy hiss.

Now Tony is wondering how long he’s been here. He’s not sure he’ll like the answer. _I’m sure as shit that I will_ not _like the answer._

“Stop trying to move mortal, you’re weaker than a new-born straterlingpup and you’re pitiful efforts are an embarrassment. You’ve remained still now for over six months, I’m sure even one as pathetic as yourself can manage a few minutes more.”

_Six months! Six whole motherfucking goddamn months! What the ever living fuck had happened that he’d spent an entire bleedin’ half-year laid out? Holy mother of a god-I-don’t-believe-in, it can’t have been that long surely?_

Of course it could be as simple as the lying Trickster God being a lying Trickster God.

Unfortunately the stiffness of his limbs said otherwise.

He stubbornly ignored that piece of evidence and continued to cling to denial. He did however admit to himself that it was indeed Loki in the room with him (no-one who had had the misfortune to meet the god could hear that insulting litany and not recognise him) but strangely enough he wasn’t feeling quite the same level of animosity towards him that he usually experienced. Granted it wasn’t gone completely, but the memory of his reaction to Dr. Doom on that rooftop had at least temporarily dulled it.

_The rooftop? Huh?_

Then it all came crashing back at once.

He was shaking now with remembered pain. What had Doom done to him? He’d felt as if he was burning from the inside out. Where on Earth had he gotten that amount of power? The asshole-of-a-villain was known to possess some small amount of magical ability yes, but it wasn’t anywhere near the level that others such as Amora and Loki regularly displayed. And then he went and did _that_ , with all the confidence of someone who’d always been capable of such a feat. And he’d done it to Tony. 

_Jesus Christ Almighty, I should be dead right now. I think I was dead._

“By the Nine Stark, will you cease to fret so! You’re making my purpose here unnecessarily trying. I swear by Yggdrasil if you do not remain still I shall force more of these Midgardian potions into your system and leave you no choice in the matter.”

 _Oh really yeah, I’ll just casually stop the uncontrollable shivering. Don’t mind me, not like I died or anything. You are so receiving a cool wall demotion. And oh look! There’s that animosity that I thought had wondered off._

“Tony? Tony? Hey, look at me Tony. Yeah that’s it buddy.” Bruce entered Tony’s field of vision and he’d never been happier to see his fellow scientist than he was right now. “Loki I know you don’t want to be here but please, for Tony’s sake, do try to be patient. He’s been through a lot haven’t you buddy. Jesus Tony, you gave us all a hell of a scare.” 

An unwilling grumble of assent sounds from behind him as Bruce slowly manoeuvres the head of the bed more upright. He grits his teeth through the pain and dizziness that washes through him and forces a cocksure smirk onto his face, refusing to show further weakness in front of the Chaos God. Tony thinks his display of strength is going alright for someone who’d supposedly just spent six months stuck in a coma - until he dribbles most of the water Bruce attempts to give him through a straw down over his chin of course. He couldn’t help it if his tongue was all swollen and dry and uncooperative could he? 

_Damn I look like an incompetent twit,_ he cringes. _Please tell me Loki didn’t see that._

His second attempt was more successful and the moisture enough to loosen his throat and allow him to croak out a scratchy “Hey Brucey.”

“Ah, the return of the prattling mortal’s voice. No doubt it shall be little more than mere minutes before we all begin to regret re-allowing him the power of speech.” In lieu of his inability to turn his head and glare daggers in revenge for the comment, Tony settled for dramatically rolling his eyes at Bruce. It turned out to be yet another action he immediately regretted as it added to the cloudy quality of his already hazy vision. But then he noticed that it had made Bruce’s eyes crinkle with amusement so perhaps it was worth it after all. If only Steve had been awake to witness it too.

“If you two imbeciles are done sniggering like a pair of immature children, could we get started on this mage training you are all being so insistent upon so that the intelligent one among us can get back to his life?”

Yeah of course. Mage training. That’s exactly what an ex-coma patient should be doi-

Wait…

_Mage training?_

_What?_

Oh _HELL NO._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely thought that you wouldn't get this second chapter for at least another week. But I've spent so much time sitting through long train journeys and in a hotel room this weekend that it's ready already. (yay?) 
> 
> So 1am post (it's 1 in the morning here anyway :S) undoubtedly full of mistakes that my brain refuses to register the presence of.
> 
> Don't expect another chapter this quickly again; it'll only end in disappointment :( I'm away on fieldwork most of next week and the week after lectures begin and unfortunately I'm physically incapable of that level of multitasking.
> 
> yus. chapter. woo!


	3. Anger and Extremis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings fellow insomniacs!  
> I have battled the weather of the Scottish highlands, fresher's flu, the beginning of a new year of university and slain a dragon to bring this new chapter to you!  
> (ok so maybe there was no dragon but we can dream)
> 
> But hopefully you'll get some of those answers you've been hoping for...

So you see, the thing is, he hears the words 'mage training' and he really is thinking 'Oh HELL NO'. Literally. It's on loop in his brain. A recording played over and over. Stuck on repeat like a scratched vinyl.

Because, just like Chuck Berry, 'No Loki, no no no. No magic for me.'

Of course he doesn't get very far into his own personal (and annoyingly catchy) (and oh god that's gonna be stuck in my head for _weeks_ ) rendition of Johnny B. Goode because _holy shit am I on fire?_

'cause ya know, that's kinda what he suddenly feels like, lack of actual flames aside.

Nope. No actual flames. Weird. Well maybe not fire then. Maybe just like being really really hot (wait... I am hot. The hottest in fact! Hot and gorgeous and sexy. Time Magazine and millions of screaming fans say so. No, shut up brain, not relevant!). And then he’s thinking thank the physiology gods there's no actual searing burning pain because this all too much like Doom and his armour dissolving, skin flaying spell of, well, _Doom_.

Because if there had been, this panic attack that he's totally not having would probably be fatal.

Oh Lord of all science, is he sick of panic attacks.

But apparently they're not sick of him because _Oh gods, not again! I can't breathe. No no no no no! Bruce, Steve, someone, anyone! Make it stop! Don't let Doom do it again. Please. Please no! I can't go through this again! Please!_

"Tony! Tony! Look at me, Tony! I need you to breathe with me, Tony. Breathe. Deep breaths, Tony. Deep breath in. One. Two. Slowly out. One. Two. And deep breath in. One. Two. Slowly out. That's it, Tony, keep going, Tony, look at me and count the breaths, Tony. In one two, and out one two. In one two...."

Bruce is there and he's counting. And Tony's looking up at him from where he's lying on the bed. Hospital bed. Hospital room. No rooftops. No Doom. White, sterile, functional. Just him and Bruce and Steve and the creepy evil overlord wannabe. And the beeping machines. And the whirring ones too. Window to his rear left, vase of flowers on the sill. And he's counting with Bruce and listing everything about his surroundings, just like Bruce taught him. _Grounding technique, Tony. Reminds you of reality. Reminds you that you're here in the now and not back there in the then._

It must be working, because the hot tingly sensation is lessening; he feels cooler now. So cool he'd make ice cubes jealous. And apparently he's calm enough to make lame puns with himself again too. But that's ok. Lame puns are awesome. Lame puns are the best. Better than the rest. They give life some zest! Put them up your vest! And he's talking out loud, isn't he, because Bruce and Steve are giving him that look. And hey, Steve's awake. Aw man, I woke poor sleepy Stevey up.

"Odin be cursed, is his inane witless rambling truly without limit? ‘Twas but a moment ago that he could barely croak the mindless beast’s name, and now he feels we must know every passing second of his dull life!"

Oh yeah, Loki. Supreme master of friendly politeness. He’s here too. 

And oh for fuck sake, the evil reindeer just saw him have another freak out. _Again, damn it._

Is he gonna be around every time something unexplainable or embarrassing or unexplainably embarrassing happens to Tony? Because he'd quite like a “get out of jail free” card for all future situations involv-

Oh.

_Oh!_

_The heat!_

_Extremis._

Doom served him up flame grilled and extra crispy, and his team mates had to stick him full of lovely DNA-screwy virus gubbins. He supposes he did give them permission to serve him up like a condiment if they needed to.

And now he's a human barbeque.

Kinda.

Ok, that was a rubbish analogy from the word go.

Man, isn't this just the best day ever?

\-------------------------------------------------

It’s an entire week before they let him escape the hospital. An entire week of terrible food and boring white walls and that god-awful mattress and invasive, meddlesome S.H.I.E.L.D doctors and Steve's no-Tony-you're-still-too-ill-to-leave puppy eyes and _Goddamn Loki._

Even dealing with feeling like he's been Hulk Smashed and then run over by a truck after falling twenty stories onto hard concrete (but this time without the suit, because it hurts even more than the time that happened during that scrap with Amora), combined with how exhausting keeping his new Extremis-regulated internal body temperature under control is with the added pleasure of staving off all those damn rooftop flashbacks that keep trying to sneak up on him like usually only a silently furious Natasha can, is one hundred percent preferable and more awesome than dealing with Loki being in the room with him all the flippin' time.

Literally all of it. All the time.

And no one will explain _why._

Because really Steve, ‘he just does so that you’re safe’ is not a good enough explanation. It doesn’t even begin to border on good enough. Doesn’t even touch it with a double-length barge pole that’s telescopic and can get even longer in order to satisfy the distance that is how far from ‘good enough’ that answer is. 

And it seems everyone else is in on the reasonable-answer-avoidance thing, because no matter how much he pleads, how much he begs, no one will tell him a goddamn thing. Not a word on the subject other than various versions of ‘he’s necessary’ or ‘it’s ok, we’ve worked it all out with Fury’. 

Because how in seven hells is any of that supposed to be in any way reassuring? He’s been stuck in a hospital room, pumped full of an experimental virus that turns him into a giant orange nightlight with added heat whenever he gets the slightest bit agitated, while all of his _so called friends_ avoid telling him any of the stuff he desperately needs to know right now because _there’s a psychopathic angry Norse god of smug grins and leering no more than 10 foot from me at all times_ for an entire bleedin’ week! It’s like after that very first time he woke up from the ‘Coma of Doom’, they’d all gone and signed some kind of agreement to leave him out of any and all information loops. It’s driving him nuts. 

Oh, clearly it’s something to do with magic. That much is blindingly obvious. Everyone is skirting round that fact, but if all those earlier mentions of that ‘mage training’ bullshit combined with Dr. Strange waltzing in (read: appearing the fuck out of nowhere with a loud pop and nearly giving him a heart attack), peering down at him like he’s a slide under a microscope for all of three seconds and then nodding at a resigned-looking Steve before immediately waltzing back out (read: second heart attack imminent) doesn’t scream magic, then Tony must have let literally all his genius dribble out of his ears. 

i.e. His IQ is not minus two, and this is completely about magic. 

Magic, and Loki (creepy ass mother stalker weirdo asshat).

So why the ever living fuck is everyone denying it! It’s not like they won’t tell him other things. They’d explain all about the burns and why they’d used extremis. About how they’d expected his arc reactor to be pushed out of his body along with the shrapnel (Bruce presented him with the remaining shards in a test tube and wasn’t that creepy) as the virus healed him, rather than be sealed into his chest. About how Steve had pretty much never left his side, other than once to retrieve an Extremis dose, once to throw some junior S.H.I.E.L.D doctor out who’d tried to take scans of the arc reactor, and a handful of times he’d been bodily dragged by the other Avengers into the bathroom down the hall and told to shower. 

Hilarity of that last situation aside, he’s really sick of it all. Utterly fed up. Of the all the denials and unanswered questions, of the never ending stiffness of all his limbs, his scratchy throat, bleary vision, ear-ringing misery, of the asshole trickster god who rants on and on and on about runes and seidr and the balance of life without ever saying one single thing that’s actually enlightening of the situation and of hospitals and this room and the complete lack of alcohol and oh my god Steve you have to let me out of here.

So thank the ever living lord of science he had finally nagged the doctors into releasing him today.

Oh they had gone on and on about him being a recovering coma patient and he needed this that and the other physical therapy and brain scans and blood tests and all manner of things that Tony had repeatedly pointed out he could do perfectly well himself back in his tower with undoubtedly better equipment but they were finally letting jump ship. And so what if he could barely stand, or if he couldn’t hold any solid food down for more than 10 minutes, or if he could only sleep if he was dosed up on enough morphine to tranquilise a horse (couldn’t let Loki see the nightmares, couldn’t let anyone see the nightmares). He was Tony Stark and he always got his own way in the end. 

Well, most of the time.

It was only twelve percent of the time that he didn’t.

An argument could be made for fifteen.

Anything Loki-related was definitely fitting into that minority percentage band today. Steve, Bruce _and_ Pepper had all insisted that Loki had to come back to Avenger Tower too. Then they had insisted that he had to travel in the same car as Tony. Next had come the demands that he stay with Tony at all times (Bruce’s medical lab for the aforementioned tests, the kitchen for sweet delicious shut-it-Steve-I haven’t-had-any-for- _months_ coffee, the sofas in front of the communal TV). None of these were things that Tony wanted.

He drew the line at being followed into the bathroom by the snarky son of a bitch.

“No, Steve. He’s not coming. I’m going to shower, he stays out here.”

“Tony, we’ve been through this.”

“Nope. You can come and be my leaning post of awesome till the actual removal of clothing bit starts, but Bag of Cats stays out here.”

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

“No seriously, Tony.”

“No Seriously, Steve.”

“Will you stop that?”

“Will _you_ stop that?”

Steve sighed with exasperation. Anyone who knew Tony was well aware that when he started acting like this, he had dug his stubborn heels in so deep that not even a hulk proofed tank would provide enough power to pull them out again (do those even exist? I’m gonna invent them if they don’t already exist). Tony knew that Steve knew this. So it was about time he backed down.

“Tony, you know why he has to come in with you.”

“No I don’t, because no one will tell me anything!”

“Tony, there’s a good reason for it and you know that.”

“A good reason? A good reason! Tell you what Steve, tell me all about this good reason. In fact, explain it to me in great detail. Excruciating detail. Fill me in all of the fine little points and list all your little reasonings and tell me _what the hell is going on!”_

He was panting with fury now, an entire week’s worth of pent up anger and frustration bubbling up to the surface. They couldn’t keep doing this to him; it was his body and his health and he had a goddamn right to know. He couldn’t believe Steve was doing this to him.

“You know Steve, after all we’ve been through I thought we were friends. I thought you trusted me. Guess I was wrong.”

Golden orange rippled under his skin and his eyes lit up like a furnace as he slammed the bathroom door in Steve’s face.

“Oh, congratulations Captain,” the distinctive venom-laced silky voice somewhat muffled by the door, “If Stark kills himself and takes the whole of your precious realm with him, then at least you managed to protect him from the truth.”

“Shut it Loki” came Steve’s guilt-ridden reply. 

Tony leant his head against the door frame and fervently wished his great day had never gone to shit. 

 

\-----------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*--------------------------------------------

 

When Loki had settled down on a rooftop with his popcorn he’d been prepared for a couple of hours watching the Avengers be battered round by Doombots while they tried to herd silly little mortal civilians out of the way and futilely minimise damage to the city’s buildings. Doom was always unnecessarily destructive in Loki’s eyes but it did make for good entertainment. The last thing he had been expecting was for Doom to use that spell.

No one used that spell. 

Ever.

It was forbidden by Mistress Death herself.

He’d taken one look at the sickly green siphoning circle that had flared up as soon as Stark landed on that rooftop and he’d known that Doom had crossed a line that not even _him_ would have dared. He’d taken one look and he’d been instantaneously terrified.

There are only three occasions on which Loki can ever remember being as nauseously horrified as he was that day. One was the time that that traitorous heap of varndallegen scum who had falsely called himself Loki’s father for over a millennium had finally revealed the truth of Loki’s origins ( _monster…_ ). The second had been towards the end of his time with _him (No, don’t dwell upon that, it lives in the past now. You’re here in the now, not back there never back there…)._ The third was when he had teleported to the edge of that siphon ring, looked into Stark’s eyes and for the first time in his long long life seen what real fear looked like in someone else. 

No matter how much he loathed them, how much he hated them, no one deserved the fate Stark was about to fall to. He wouldn’t even wish that ending upon _him._

And so he had tried, tried with all he had, ignoring how pointless and futile it was, to break through the circle’s shielding. Tried until he was breathing in short pants, tried until his knees where buckling, tried until he was holding himself upright with nothing more than his own stubborn pride. 

But he couldn’t, knew he couldn’t before he’d even begun. No amount of strength or skill or talent would ever be enough to break a siphon shield from outside it and by Valhalla did admitting that sicken him to his very core. There was nothing he could do but stand uselessly outside listening to Thor’s roars of anger and anguish as he too recognised what was happening, stand uselessly as Stark’s friends too realised the magnitude of the situation. Stand uselessly unable to do anything more than apologise to the Stark for ever allowing this situation to occur

( _should have killed Doom months ago, should have stepped in and ended this fight hours ago, should have stopped Doom before he could even start this spell, should have should have should have…_ )

Should have killed Stark himself to save the man from this.

And so when he saw his name on Stark’s lips, he apologised because that’s all he could do.

Of course that’s when yet another unexpected event occurred. 

He’d had only a single moment to register the look of scathing fury that was sent his way before he’d been hauled forward into the ring, staggering through the barrier in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. Shouldn’t have been possible because that pulling had been magic, could _only_ have been _magic_ and its life-force had been the wrong colour for Doom’s. He’d been so shocked that he just stood there. 

And oh how Doom would have been made to pay for his insolence once he was within reach. By Yggdrasil, he would have reduced the pathetic, snivelling, disgusting mortal who dared to use _that spell_ upon another being to a withered heap of sodden Muspel ash. He would have gotten no mercy for the wretched being had forfeited the right the second he decided to utter the first word of the Magnanvara Ceasestus. He would have been forced to pay the ultimate price for ending Stark’s life in such a manner.

When the cowardly Spawn-of-Svartalfheim’s-Whores had disappeared after suffering only a single blow from his staff, driven by his nigh-on uncontrolled revengeful wrath, Loki had been convinced that no force short of _him_ arriving right there and then could have persuaded him to do anything other than hunt the _monstrous cretin down and end him._

A gurgled cry of agony and a blinding pulse of blue-gold had quickly convinced him otherwise.

 _Odin’s beard!_ He’d turned and caught Stark as he pitched forward, eyes widening in shock, _this poor mortal should be long dead!_

Doom could wait. First he had to see to it that Tony Stark survived just one more night. He’d earned that. 

(It wouldn’t be the last time he underestimated Stark’s ability to stubbornly cling to life against all odds.)

\-------------------------------------------------

The next few days convinced him that if there was one thing that The Fates should never have done, it was give Stark magic. They should also have never allowed Loki to promise to keep him alive.

\-------------------------------------------------

The first time he’d been forced to supress the mortal inventor’s awakening and wildly out of control talent with a sheet of his own forest green magic and the two colliding forces had resonated like the harps of Valhalla’s own halls, he’d known for sure that he’d been in deep, deep trouble.

\-------------------------------------------------

When only a day later he’d realised just how deep Stark’s reserves ran and worked out exactly what would happen if he wasn’t taught control over it he’d skipped straight over trouble and gone for well…

To use a crude and unimaginative phrase the Man of Iron himself would have favoured, Loki’s life was completely and utterly fucked.

\-------------------------------------------------

He’d been doubly assured of that conclusion when a further twelve hours on the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. had snarled savagely at him that Steven Strange couldn’t stay and maintain control of Stark’s magic; that Strange had confirmed his “wildass crackpot theories” and had more important things to do than “babysit dumbass idiotic loose-cannon so called geniuses” so Loki had better “keep his motherfucking evil ass right goddamn here and deal with this magical mojo bullshit or so help me, you won’t even know what smacked your twisted ugly ass features into last week.”

He’d sincerely wished that he could ignore the anger-crazed S.H.I.E.L.D agent and teach him a much needed lesson in true superiority but if he'd known that if he wanted this realm to remain intact then he was going to have to clamp down on the rage and do exactly what was demanded of him.

He’d have his chance to claim recompense for the disrespect and impertinence later.

He was imagining what he would do to him already. And oh would he revel in it. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Of course the thrice damned mortal healers eventually worked out that they couldn’t deal with the severity and sheer number of injuries that Stark had sustained. It had been five days and all Loki could think was ‘utterly incompetent, useless pathetic beings’. He’d been about to step in and use his own limited knowledge of the healing arts to prevent a seventh occurrence of near-total heart failure (the risk to both him and Stark be damned, these so called ‘Doctors’ were infuriating and if they didn’t heal those horrific burns soon he was a lost cause anyway) when the remaining avengers and a hand full of others that Loki had recognised as Stark’s companions had suddenly barrelled into the room.

The healers of course had been less than pleased with the sudden invasion but the ‘good’ Captain (the overly righteous oaf was far too alike to Thor to ever earn Loki’s approval) had them placated and herded out the room in short order. 

But before Loki could question what was happening, the Little Spider assassin had stuck some kind of device with five needles and an encased plunger mechanism into Stark’s convulsing chest right above his heart. He’d watched raptly as the viscous silvery orange fluid within had drained slowly into his body.

The second the last drop had slithered out the effect had been nigh on instantaneous. 

It had also been completely mesmerising.

Stark had convulsed one more time before his entire body became tense and ramrod straight. He’d arched up once, right off the bed, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as all the Midgardian healing devices surrounding him had gone into overdrive; the beeping that Loki knew to associate with Stark’s heart beat had become so fast paced it almost seemed to blur into one long high pitched whine. Then the glowing had started. 

It had been barely noticeable to begin with, a faint amber shine rippling under his skin like a weak electric flashlight held against someone’s hand in a darkened room. He’d felt the warmth next, an unnatural surge in temperature that had rivulets of sweat stinging his eyes in an instant. Soon it was like a bonfire, then a raging inferno, the trapped power of a Plinian eruption contained by nothing more than a mortal’s skin.

It reminded him strongly of the terrible Fire Giants of Muspelhiem. 

For a second he’d almost not caught himself thinking how beautiful Stark was like that. He’d shoved it away the instant he had though, thoroughly disgusted with himself. He also suddenly noticed that unless he did something now, more than just the bed frame was going to melt. 

Thus he’d suddenly found himself acting as a magical temperature regulator as well as a magic dampener.

It was the start of an endlessly long and tiring six months.

\-------------------------------------------------

Mistress Death had appeared later that night.

An unnatural bone deep chill had rolled through the room and even Loki had crowded away from her with the Avengers, feeling the true sting of winter for the first time in his life.

No one questioned her presence nor ever mentioned it to any who had not witnessed it first-hand.

Whatever words she spoke that night were for Stark and Stark alone. The rest had remained in silence and never asked. 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

“Stark. Finally awake I see.” And thank the Norns. He was about ready to tear his own hair out by this point. Six months. Six months of deep mistrust covered with a thin veneer of civility from most, and hateful glaring and undisguised loathing from the rest.

He’d barely done anything other than pace back and forth in the small room and maintain a steady stream of dampening magic for the entire time he’d been here. He’d only had two dozen extremely brief respites; times when he’d managed to make the dampener spell self-sustaining enough for Thor to utilise his own pitiful and barely worth mentioning talents to hold it in place just long enough for Loki to slip down the hallway, shower and redress in three minutes flat before rushing back to relieve his not-brother.

When he wasn’t pacing, hurriedly showering, tormenting the Hawk, warily eying the Captain (who refused to leave Stark’s bedside unless bodily dragged from the room and who eyed him back with just as much suspicion), or avoiding Thor and his unwanted attempts at ‘brotherly bonding’- deflecting each of the latter every time with scathing remarks - he was doing what he had always done when he had time on his hands; he read.

He read and surreptitiously watched the chest of Stark’s unconscious body rise and fall with the steady rhythm of machine regulated breaths from the corner of his eye.

It was so strange seeing him like that; disturbing almost. He would never have admitted it to anyone, barely even admits it to himself, but that forced stillness, the endless silence from a man usually so enthused and animated was uncomfortable and unsettling. Part of the delight he’d had with carrying out his various schemes and plots had been being privy to the various reactions the mortal had had to them. Oh more often than not the delight was short lived and he left the battlefield with a white hot burning desire to crush Stark once and for all but he had never followed through and actually done it.

For one thing he’d never come across such a skilled flyting partner, one who showed such razor sharp wit and a strong competency with words. For another, battles with the Avengers with the infuriating genius not present were dull and tedious in comparison to those in which he was. 

Despite all this, Loki was one hundred percent certain that the one thing he didn’t like about Stark was Stark himself. He was arrogant, self obsessed, over confident and he drove Loki further past the point of insanity with every new word that fell out of his mouth. So when he finally stirred from his healing slumber and Loki saw that the Captain was currently deep asleep, he decided that the last thing he was going to do was be nice to him, secretly relieved or not. 

And Stark really needed to stop attempting to move around like that. It was upsetting the carefully balanced routine of magic-flow that he’d established; he’d done it near constantly for so long now he barely even thought about it and Stark’s small but sudden jerky movements were forcing him to concentrate on it for the first time in months. 

He didn’t like having to make the effort. He told him as much.

He told him again more threateningly when his twitching only escalated into violent shaking. 

He very quickly wished he hadn’t when immediately after, the green beast’s vessel came hurtling through the door. For all that it had been years now since he’d had his spine shattered against Stark’s marble tower flooring, proximity to the beast or his mild-mannered alter ego still made him nervous. It was not an experience he ever wished to repeat and thus provided him with a small modicum of respect for the man that he held for none of his associates. 

“What did you do Loki! His heart rate is through the roof and he’s spiralling down into a panic attack! I’m amazed that he isn’t having an Extremis flare up!” On second thoughts, he only gave respect where it was first given. 

“I have done nothing fool! Do not presume to blame me for events beyond my control! He had been awake but a few moments before your entry; not even long enough for me to awaken your Captain of America, let alone trigger such an episode of anxiety.”

The withering look of disbelief he received for that statement was insulting enough to convince him to not argue the point further – to save his breath for more worthwhile pursuits – and to leave the Doctor to struggle with Stark alone. 

Unfortunately it’s not even a minute before he has Stark calmed and his breathing and heart rate levelled out. Loki had been hoping for something a bit longer lasting and thus more dramatic and entertaining. Whatever good will he’d held for the man for enduring what Doom had inflicted upon him had slowly drained away over the six months and the last of it had disappeared moments ago when he’d been falsely accused without cause on his behalf. 

However he did take some small satisfaction over watching the man drool helplessly all over himself.

And now with Stark’s (hilariously feeble) voice returned, and his desire to be free of this situation stronger than ever, Loki saw no reason not to get started with teaching the necessary control right away.

In hindsight, he really should have predicted the volcanic reaction to that announcement.

He also took back anything he may have previously said about Stark’s skill with words; the mortal was obviously a blithering rambling idiot.

\-------------------------------------------------

Following his awakening and subsequent Extremis issues, the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. took the decision to not immediately explain any of the magic orientated aspects of Stark’s condition or Loki’s continued presence. At first Loki had refused and called them short sighted, selfish imbeciles. Then, once promised a variety of immunity agreements including a permanent ban on extraditing him back to Asgard, he’d reluctantly agreed to join the others in their attempt at withholding information. Once he’d seen for himself just how irritated the Midgardian became every time some once avoided answering one of his many questions, he’d taken to the task with relish. He still thought it was pointless – Stark clearly knew that both he and magic where involved – but it was just so entertaining watching him get so riled up when he was unable to retaliate. 

When he discovered that he could get away with explaining about magical procedures and methods so long as he never referred to Stark’s magic itself, he took every opportunity to do just that; the engineer and scientist instincts within Stark clearly weren’t enough to overcome whatever natural curiosity he had and despite his forced rebellion against every scrap of knowledge Loki fed him, his brain was too hungry for the new information to remain truly uneducated in the subject. 

In short Stark clearly hated every second of it, but Loki was still managing to achieve his goals. Driving him insane by not telling him what he actually wanted to know about magic was just an added bonus.

However much he’d been enjoying it he knew the denial game had to come to an end the day that Stark finally managed to talk his way out of the hospital. Loki had no idea how he’d managed it given that he could barely even sit upright unaided and was forced to rely on his team mates to do practically everything for him.

But talk his way out he had, and Loki knew it was time for his training to really begin. To do that someone was going to have to finally confirm what Stark had no doubt already worked out for himself; that he was a mage, perhaps the strongest one that the nine realms had ever seen and that he needed to learn control over his talent or he could quite possibly unseat the entire realm from its perch among Yggdrasil’s branches. 

So when they arrived at Stark’s tower and everyone continued to dance around the subject to the point they endangered his and their own existences, he decided it was time to take the matter into his own hands.

“Stark,” he called through the door, ignoring the Captain’s demands for silence, “How would you like to learn to be one of the most powerful men in the Nine.”

\-----------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*--------------------------------------------

Loki was a total asshat. A complete and utter bastard. 

So was Steve.

But damn if Loki’s sincere sounding offer hadn’t caught his attention. Why the hell would Loki ever offer him something like that?

He took a deep breath, forced down Extremis and opened the bathroom door, determined to find out.

Time to get those answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone who's interested, Loki is referring to the named classifications of the Volcanic Explosivity Index when he mentions a "Plinian eruption". The Scale reads like such:
> 
> Hawaiian (Effusive/Gentle)  
> Strombolian (Explosive)  
> Vulcanian (Cataclysmic)  
> Peléan (Cataclymic)  
> Plinian (Paroxysmic)  
> Ultra-Plinian (Colossal)  
> Ultra-Plinian (Mega Colossal)  
> Super Volcanic (Apocalypitic)
> 
> If you want any further info or have any questions please feel free to ask; I only bite on Thursdays every other week :)


	4. Reluctant Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter.  
> Warning: evil author is even more mean to Tony than usual in this one. Thus, some trigger warning can be found in the end notes.  
> Also: now featuring Thor POV! (and there was much rejoicing!)
> 
> MINI EDIT: Now with Stevey's surname spelt correctly because I'm a dyslexic moron.... (thanks to theMidgey for pointing out my dumbness :D)

Turns out Loki’s grand plan boils down to “You’re a mage, I’ll teach you magecraft”

Haha yeah right. Pull the other one Loki.

Mage his ass.

Besides he doesn’t need to _become_ one of the most powerful people in the universe if he already _is_ one. Because really, has Loki even seen what he can do? What he’s achieved already with just his ‘puny mortal’ lifespan huh? He’s a goddamn genius, a billionaire, an inventor extraordinaire, a futurist. He’s Tony Stark and Iron man and the major shareholder of the world’s third largest company. He is in short, (but he is not in fact, _actually_ short thank you very much Hawkass) completely amazing. 

And he would totally tell Loki all of this and laugh in his face if he wasn’t busy suddenly remembering why he’d been clinging to Steve like a lifeline before he’d slammed the door in their faces.

Because wow, standing up is _hard._

\-------------------------------------------------

Steve carries him to bed. 

The carrying itself he doesn’t have a problem with; it happened often enough post-Pepper that he’s long since learned to ignore any feelings of embarrassment and indignity that get stirred up. No, the issue he has right now is that Loki is watching every second of him being hauled around like an invalid.

He’s really, really sick of having all his moments of weakness witnessed by the god of asseholery.

So he does what he always does when he’s in a position he doesn’t like and denial isn’t an option; he bitches about it incessantly.

Of course Steve completely ignores both his vocal protests and his physical ones and continues to lug him into the elevator, up to the penthouse suite and from there into the master bedroom as if Tony’s flailing and wriggling are nothing more than a mild annoyance. 

“I friggin’ hate-” he gasps out once he’s been propped up against the headboard, “-super soldiers and their-” another harsh, stuttering breath, “-Friggin’ super strength! Unfair advantage. Completely unfair. ” Steve just smiles silently down at him. _Bastard._

“No I mean it Stevey, I hate you and all you stand for, you goddamn walking flag of patriotism and justice.” He allows his head to drop down onto his chest and his eyes to slide shut, still panting rapidly. “And goddammit lungs, get with the program already and allow me to breathe properly.”

“Well if you hadn’t been so insistent on acting like a spoilt errant child Stark, then you would not have arrived at your current state of exhaustion. If you will insist on needlessly over exerting yourself, then you will also have to deal with the consequences.”

“Shut it Reindeer Games. No one asked you.” The twisted smile Loki gives him in return is nothing like the fond one Steve is still displaying. 

“But in all seriousness Steve, I really am pretty pissed at you.” His now steady voice was devoid of the playful overtones from the moment before. His eyes light up Extremis-orange and the smile slides slowly from Steve’s face. “I’m pissed at all of you. Whatever it is that you’re hiding from me, whatever the real reason for being permanently stalked by _this_ ” he points forcibly towards the corner where Loki is still smugly hovering, “total douchebag is, I need to know Steve. I don’t care what reasons you all _think_ you have for keeping things from me, but as it clearly affects me directly I ought to be told. Whatever it is, it affects _me_ Steve, _me._ Not someone else. So I need to know what’s going on. I _deserve_ to know.”

“Tony, you know why I-”

“Quit it Steve, just don’t. I don’t want your evasions. I don’t want your excuses. Don’t even begin to go there again! You’re supposed to be my best friend so start bloody well acting it! Or is that the problem huh? Finally realised that I’m not worth the effort, keep me in the dark so that you don’t have to deal with my worthless ass anymore? Pepper worked it out eventually, about time you did too!” He pauses, curls in on himself, pulls back on the heated glow radiating dully from his body, forcibly snuffs it out and stares out miserably from above where his arms are wrapped tightly around his knees. 

“No, no actually that’s fine Steve. I know I’m not good enough for anyone, that I’m never going to be good enough for anyone. I know that, I’ve always known that. I know that everyone has to leave eventually.” Another pause and the angry rigidness of his spine returns, defiance glittering coldly in his eyes, lit again by Extremis “But if our friendship ever meant anything to you at any point then you’ll tell me once and for all _what the fuck is going on!_ ” 

For a moment Steve is completely still, frozen by shock and horror. Even Loki looks surprised. Then Steve takes a single shuddering breath and his shoulders droop with defeat. Tony can’t stand the sadness and hurt that start pouring off of him waves, doesn’t like the unhappy confusion that Loki can’t quite fully mask either. Guilt crashes down upon him; he caused this. He caused both their reactions. He looks away from them both. It’s not enough; he can feel Steve’s disappointment saturating the room, saturating him. He wishes more than ever that he had learnt how to shut himself up.

The only thing he can be happy about is that for once Loki doesn’t seem to have a snide remark. 

He slides down the bed and pulls the duvet up over his head, hides his body’s soft golden glow, turns his back towards the two other men and curls into a ball as he does so. If only he could hide from himself the same way. Hide from his thoughts and his doubts and his self-loathing. 

The mattress dips and he feels a hand placed on his shoulder over the covers.

“I’m sorry Tony. I’m- I’ve- I-. I should have realised how badly you’d take not being told. We all should have realised how badly you’d take not being told. Seems stupid now. Should have known you’d adjust to the extremis right off the bat. We were trying to give you time to get used to that and recover from the coma, help you deal with what happened on the rooftop before springing another load of things to deal with on you. Dumb decision clearly. It’s not like you have a reputation for being able to handle anything that’s thrown at you for no reason. You’ve always met every challenge you’ve ever faced square on and come out on top every time. So why did I think this time would be any different?” 

Tony heard Steve sigh tiredly, the sound muffled by the weight of the duvet still blanketing him completely. He made no move beyond tucking his chin further down and drawing his knees up tighter against his chest. The silence stretched on.

“You know what I most regret,” Steve continued quietly when the silence of the atmosphere had become too oppressing, “above everything else I wish I’d been found earlier, freed from the ice before your parents passed away. Why? Because I wish I had been able to see your father one last time. Not for the reasons you think but because I wish I could see him one last time so that I could make him regret every time he ignored you, every time he told you that you weren’t good enough. And I’d make him sorry for ever even _thinking_ he could lay a hand on you.

“Because you know Tony, everything he said about you, everything he’s made you think about yourself, everything the press believes because of what he did to you, it’s all wrong. You’re brilliant, selfless, caring, hardworking, committed, generous beyond belief, the most genius person I’ve ever met – and believe me in this line of work I’ve met a few - and above all else, you are worth every single second of time and effort I’ve ever given you and every one I will give you and nothing anyone ever says or do will ever make me believe otherwise.

“So I promise to show you that Tony. I promise to make you see for yourself just how amazing you are. I promise to never lie to you about anything ever again, to never make you feel like you’re less than perfect as you are. And I’ll start that by explaining everything properly as soon as you wake up. I know you’re exhausted Tony and I know that that’s partially my fault so get some sleep. I’ll explain everything in the morning.” 

Tony rolled over under the duvet, curled himself loosely around Steve and cried himself to sleep.

\-------------------------------------------------

The next week was a living hell. 

True to his word Steve had explained everything that had happened and that they’d discovered while Tony had been comatose in the S.H.I.E.L.D hospital. When Steve was done they’d agreed to never mention the conversation of the night before ever again. Tony was more than fine with that decision. 

Unfortunately Steve’s explanation didn’t help alleviate his state of confusion one bit. He’d been right; it was to do with magic. But he just couldn’t believe _the way_ it was to do with magic. Turns out Loki hadn’t been lying about the whole mage thing after all.

Tony really wishes he was. He’s still half convinced that he is somehow and that everyone else has been brainwashed into believing that’s what’s happening by Loki using more of his magic. It sounds exactly like the kind of thing Loki would do purely because he thought it was mildly entertaining.

Except he can’t see Loki sticking it for this long. For crying out loud, Tony had been stuck in a coma for six entire months. That’s six months were Loki had been practically unable to leave his bedside. Surely the Trickster god would’ve gotten bored long before now if it was all just some elaborate ruse. Watching back some of the hospital footage that Tony had liberated from S.H.I.E.L.D’s database (liberated as in hacked, copied onto his personal servers and then promptly deleted all other copies of) it was painfully obvious that Loki was initially as panicked as everyone else and then later bored out of his mind. 

If he really was as bored as he seemed to be on the recordings and there hadn’t been a legitimate reason for his continued presence, Tony had no doubts that Loki would have left long before now. It wasn’t exactly reassuring. 

When he finally convinced Bruce and perpetual-guilty-puppy-dog-eyes-Steve to let him stagger down into the workshop after a second day of mind-numbingly-boring enforced bed rest, J.A.R.V.I.S had been able to confirm what Steve and Loki had told already told him; according to J.A.R.V.I.S’s vast array of sensors, his entire body was swimming with that mystical energy only found surrounding magic user. The energy that Tony had dubbed ‘Voodoo-juice’ and that he considered to be the bane of his life. 

See the stuff just isn’t natural. It blatantly ignores all the laws of physics, defies the universe itself just existing in the first place. It doesn’t seem to act like either particles or waves, it can apparently be used to create matter out of nowhere, completely ignoring Einstein’s E=mc2, and it likes to wave merrily as the laws of energy conservation pass by it unnoticed. It drives Tony insane. And now it appears that his entire body is drenched in the stuff.

Conclusion: He’s a goddamn mage goddammit. 

Basically, Tony is not a happy bunny right now. 

Of course there’s a whole bunch of other stuff going on that just makes the situation tip from being highly unpleasant over into being completely and utterly intolerable.

First on the list is being an ex-coma patient. He would never admit out loud but he soon starts to realise why the S.H.I.E.L.D doctors were so upset when he insisted on checking himself out AMA. He just feels so goddamn useless. He’s permanently exhausted. Food is both highly desirable and completely repulsive. He can barely walk three feet before he has to start worrying if his legs will allow him to remain upright. Consequently he spends a lot of time clinging to walls and door frames, hanging desperately onto Steve or Bruce or whichever other Avenger happens to be around. Occasionally, when there’s no wall within reach and no one close enough to cling to, he’ll half crawl, half drag himself across the floor in order to reach his desired destination because he’s a stubborn bastard and there’s no way he’s going to physically ask for help.

As for food, he avoids eating until Bruce is practically force feeding him and even then he’ll only ever get half of it down before he’s gagging and begging Bruce to take the rest of it away. He also spends far too much time passed out from exhaustion on either the common room couch or the narrow cot down in his workshop than he likes and has no doubt that he’ll never hear the end of it from Barton as soon as the man loses his current guilty demeanour. 

This is all made so much worse by item number two on the list. Extremis. 

Aside from the obvious temperature regulation issues, the virus causes a whole host of problems. The most annoying comes in the form of not-quite-Steve-but-still-pretty-super super-strength. He honestly has no idea how Steve and Thor cope. How do they manage to not break everything constantly? For someone who can’t even stand unaided for more than two seconds, he sure has a hell of a grip (there’s a large number of shattered plates and glasses and bent cutlery that can attest to that fact).

The pinnacle of his strength based frustration comes the day that he goes to open a closet to grab a fresh set of towels and the whole door comes off its hinges. In his surprise, his control had slipped and the more toasty properties of Extremis had flared up. To top it all off his knees had chosen that moment to give way and suddenly he’d found himself face planting a burning door with the melting metal of the handle running down his arm, melting his watch _and_ ruining one of his favourite band tees. Next, he’d started banging his head against the charred wood repeatedly, cursing the universe for its unfair treatment of him because the fire he’d accidentally caused had set the corridor’s sprinkler system and the entire building’s fire alarms off.

Unfortunately Stark Industries company policy dictates that uncontrolled fires outside of a secure lab environment where they can be easily extinguished must result in a building-wide full evacuation. Pepper had been furious with him when she’d been forced to send every single non-essential employee that worked in the Tower home for the rest of the day with a full day’s wages. Tony wasn’t sure which was worse; the lecture she’d given him on reckless behaviour, the argument that ensued between her and Steve when Steve had tried to defend him or the fact he’d had to endure both while still dressed in his sodden and burnt clothing while Loki alternated between scowling at him from the corner for getting him soaked too and smirking in amusement every time Pepper made a particularly harsh comment. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s Loki the limpet who holds the top spot of ‘most infuriating’ in the ‘piss Tony Stark off competition’ that the universe seems to be holding. 

Tony gets literally no time alone anymore. If he curls up in front of the T.V, Loki perches on the far end of the other couch and buries his nose in a book. If he stumbles down to the workshop to work (well, to try and work; the amount that Steve and J.A.R.V.I.S will allow him to do hardly merits the term ‘work’, the conspiring betrayers) then Loki shoves his equipment and experiments around until he has enough space to sit cross-legged on top of a workbench and proceeds to stare blankly at him for hours on end. If he goes to bed (or more accurately, when Steve drags him to bed) then Loki can be found stretched out on the small single bed that Bruce and Clint shoved into the corner of his room, grumbling about Tony’s built in night light keeping him awake all night. He’s there every time Tony stumbles, every time food leaves him retching, every time he accidentally damages something with his over the top strength and every time he’s _this close_ to just saying ‘fuck it’ and throwing in the metaphorical towel of life. 

(He pushes all those impulses away. Can’t let anyone see any more weakness, must never give in to yet another selfish desire. Has to carry on suffering. He deserves the suffering.)

Steve is almost as bad, but Tony can’t begrudge him his stalker habits when he’s all too aware that after what he said to him the night before ‘the great information reveal’, he has no right to tell him what do to at all. Every time his traitorous mind dredges up the memory of the way he’d treated his best friend when Steve had only been trying to help he feels physically sick. He can’t believe that he’d not only allowed himself to display all his weakness like that, but that he’d selfishly blamed Steve for his own failings. So Steve can follow him around all he likes, Tony isn’t going to say a word against him even if he’s sure that he really doesn’t deserve any of the help and support he’s being given.

Loki though, Loki has got to go. It’s bad enough that he sees everything in the first place without him also being such an asshole about the whole thing. He’s either completely silent, ignoring Tony’s existence entirely no matter how much he tries to needle a response out of him, or, more often, he just won’t shut the hell up. By ever living Lovecraft, can he talk when he gets going. People often think Tony is overly chatty (or just an outright rambling maniac) but he honestly has nothing on Loki when he starts on about magic. 

It was bad enough that week they were still stuck in the hospital. At least then he’d been limited by the fact he couldn’t mention anything about Tony himself having magic. With no such restraints now he was seemingly hell-bent on imparting an entire life’s worth of magic knowledge in a short as time as possible. Now everyone knows that Tony is as curious and fascinated by new things as any self-respecting man of science, but the stuff that comes out of Loki’s mouth never makes even one lick of sense. Not even a tiny-cute-kitten-with-a-tiny-cute-tongue-sized lick of sense. 

While Loki clearly believes every word that he’s saying is deep and meaningful, to Tony it’s all complete nonsense and that pushes it past the already high level of irritating anything Loki related would usually class as and into the realm of ‘most incredibly annoying thing I’ve ever had to tolerate’. He’d rather spend a week tied to a chair in an SI board meeting with Pepper breathing down his neck and a six foot high stack of legal documents in need of reading and signing in front of him than have to listen to another round of Loki trying to teach him magical mumbo jumbo.

Admittedly he does pick up some useful information from evil-Bambi’s rants but the useful stuff comes at points so few and far between they might as well not happen at all. After a couple of days he thinks he understands the whole thing about life-forces and their colours being individual to each different mage. By understand what he really means is that he gets the thing about the colours being unique as when he concentrates on it, he can see that his swirly voodoo energy stuff is mostly gold with shocks of blue injected into it (and now that, with the aid of J.A.R.V.I.S’s sensors, he knows what he’s looking for he can in fact see it) and that there’s a blanket of much calmer voodoo-juice over his that’s a darkish green in colour. The rest of the explanation goes right over his head. 

He also learns that there’s something to do with runes and how each different one represents a different flow of something called seidr (which may or may not be the same thing as life-force and/or magic but he’s honestly not in the least bit sure) and that the different flows are necessary for different spells. Given that he still has no idea what a ‘flow’ is, the only thing he actually gets out of that is a very basic knowledge of the written version of Asgard’s language. 

The main thing he gets out of the Loki-lectures is that there’s no longer any way he can deny that he’s somehow become a mage and _oh for crying out loud why is it always me that has to deal with this BS?_

As he predicted at the beginning of the ‘world’s worst week ever’ though, the prize for the most annoying Loki-issue goes to anything bathroom related. Or to add necessary detail, the fact that he can’t go into one alone. Even Steve who’d dealt with him at rock bottom post-Pepper had never seen him clothed in any less than boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt. And yet Loki can’t seem to get the message that staring while he’s undressing for showering is entirely inappropriate and he really should stop doing that because _I know you’re only doing it to make me uncomfortable Rudolf because you’re mean and evil and shut it Stevey, I know literally hundreds of women have seen me naked but that was only a bunch of one night stands and this is_ Loki _and if you make a single pathetic attempt at a wise crack Legolas I’ll delete all the new bow upgrades that I have planned for you from the servers permanently._

Well at least he thinks this is the worst part right up until the first time Bruce doesn’t dose him up with morphine when Steve puts him bed. 

\-------------------------------------------------

He’s screaming. There’s a hole in his chest and he’s screaming. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, why does this man have his bloody hands in my chest? And oh yeah, that’s Yinsen and he’s making me a new heart out of a car battery. Because he doesn’t have a heart. Pepper took it with her when she left. And then his head is underwater. He’s drowning over and over, the world is a haze of black and white and red and pain and his entire body is burning burning, burning.

He needs air but his head is underwater and his chest is tight and he can’t struggle, they’re holding him down, holding his head under the water. It’s green-grey and slimy and oh so cold and his lungs are going to explode. He wants to scream again but he can’t because his head is underwater.

And his whole body spasms because he’s choking on the freezing sludgy water. It’s in his eyes and in his ears and it scorches down his throat, burning away his sanity as it goes. He knows he’s going to die in this cave. 

And oh god Yinsen. They’re killing him, they’re killing Yinsen. And he’s forced to watch suspended above the water as they fill Yinsen’s body full of bullet holes and he writhes and screams and tries to save him but it’s not enough, it’s never enough. Not enough when he’s drowning and they’re killing Yinsen and the void is coming to claim him. Because it’s always there, the void, that empty nothingness on the edge of space that’s just _wrong_. He saw it when he went through the portal and _it saw him_ and now it’s in the cave with him, waiting to take him back.

He has to escape, needs to get away, but he can’t because Doctor Doom is holding his head back under the water. He screams and dies in a cave.

\-----------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*--------------------------------------------

After the week he’s had, Loki shouldn’t be surprised when it gets even worse. 

He doesn’t know what to make of Stark. He’s nothing like he’s meant to be. He should be loud and brash and confident but it’s all just a mask, a façade he hides behind. It’s a situation he’s all too familiar with himself.

He really doesn’t like how familiar the situation is. 

The whole thing just leaves him confused. He should hate the mortal, should hate that he draws Loki’s attention to his own weaknesses. But he can’t. He tries to but he can’t. All he can do is grudgingly empathise with the man. 

That and secretly admire his immovable stubborn streak. 

Because by the Norns is Stark good at refusing to do something he doesn’t want to. The number of times he’s been surprised by how persistent the Midgardian can be over the last week is nearly beyond belief. He adamantly reuses aid of any kind (the insane fool stubbornly dragging himself across the floor was a sight to behold indeed), grows angry with anyone who seeks to make his life easier and scowls and mutters at anyone who ignores his protestations and helps him anyway. 

Try as he might, Loki can’t even bring himself to be angry over the hallway sprinkler incident. He was in fact furious over his sodden attire for all of three seconds, but then he’d seen the way Stark had flinched and had visibly forced himself not to cower as the water had poured down upon him. Loki knew a panic reaction when he saw one, had them himself whenever his thoughts uncontrollably drifted towards _him_ and the instant he recognised it for what it was his frustration had drained away like water running over an impermeable rock. He’d faked being angry anyway of course, had to so that no one found out that he was starting to _like_ the irritating mortal.

Because that’s what it was. He hadn’t earned the epithet ‘God of Lies’ (however incorrect it might actually be; mischief and chaos yes, lies no) for no reason, but even he was incapable of lying to himself about a fact as obvious as this one. He’d tried to of course, but too often had he found his attention held raptly as Stark rambled on tirelessly in his workshop about particles and energy and electronics. Too many times had he found himself inordinately pleased when the engineer listened to his own explanations of magic and seidr with equal undivided attention (he’d quickly realised that the best way to silence Stark was to talk even more than he did surprisingly enough and took advantage of this whenever possible). The speed at which his feelings were shifting from intense dislike to grudging admiration was quite frankly terrifying. 

He wasn’t a fool though; he knew no one could discover his change of opinion lest they decide to use it against him. So he continued to dole out scathing remarks and snide comments at every opportunity, never for a second deviating from his charade of dislike. That was his plan. Admire from a distance, be disdainful up close.

The entire plan went out the window the night he was awoken by the sound of Stark screaming in his sleep. 

This was the moment in which he’d realised that this week could indeed take yet another turn for the worst. 

The captain, who had been sat dozing in a chair next to the bed, reached his thrashing friend first. Scrambling across the bed, he’d gently placed both hands onto Stark’s shoulders and tried to gently shake him awake.

“Tony. Tony come on buddy, it’s just a dream Tony. Come on wake up buddy. You’re safe, you’re at home, shhhh come on I’m here, wake up now.”

Hovering awkwardly at the edge of the bed unsure how best to help (or if he should actually help at all), Loki knew the exact instant that Stark awoke. Not because he’d immediately jerked upright, not because he’d thrown both himself and the captain off of the bed, or because he’d scrambled away whimpering into the corner behind Loki’s own bed. No, Loki knew because the instant he came awake, the hysterical mortal lashed out with his seidr with enough force to send Loki crashing back against a wall and to shatter the row of mirrors opposite the bed completely.

As soon as he scrambled upright, he immediately clamped down on Stark’s metaphysical flailing, pitting his own not inconsiderable strength against the Midgardian’s. He smothered the other’s life-force under his own and held it down with the sheer force of his will. 

By Odin did it strain him though. He’d known that Stark had the potential to tap into a nigh-on unrivalled amount of power but he’d never fully considered the consequences of that. He’d thought he would be able to contain his raw power, untrained in its uses as Stark was, but that belief was being severely tested right now. 

Realising that if he remained unaided while the inventor was still so panicked, he would soon pass out from over exertion, Loki did the only thing he could think of despite how much he loathed the idea.

He crawled across to Stark, pulled the trembling and sobbing man into his arms and sent the still dazed captain running for Thor.

“And make sure he brings Mjolnir with him!” he shouted after his rapidly retreating back.

\-----------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*--------------------------------------------

Thor had been happily chatting away to his partner, Doctor Jane Foster, over a video chat system the Man of Iron had created specially for him (Friend Tony had been most adamant that his design was of a far superior quality to that which the Lady Jane had previously introduced him to – a wondrous programme called ‘skype’- but Thor honestly could detect no difference) when an out-of-breath and clearly distraught Steven Rogers had come rushing into his rooms. 

“Thor! Thor you have to come now! Tony needs you! Loki sent me to get you. Something about magic and Mjolnir and please, something’s wrong with Tony!”

Seeing the usually calm and collected soldier of superior strength so flustered was Thor’s first clue that something was indeed untoward. That it was Loki who had sent shield brother Rogers to collect him gave him more than enough motivation to offer a hasty goodbye to his Lady, gather up his hammer and follow young Rogers into the box of mechanical lifting (The son of Stark’s amused voice rose up in his memories as he clambered in: _Elevator Point Break, it’s called an elevator. Damned space Vikings and their unevolved culture)._

Barrelling into the Man of Iron’s personal room, Thor saw to the heart of the issue immediately. Eyes widening he scurried over to his exhausted looking brother who was protectively cradling a writhing Friend Tony in his arms. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on Mjolnir and extended his other hand towards the huddled pair. 

“Take as much from me as you are able to brother and then I shall hasten with all speed to our homeland. I shall not return until I have secured the help of our most generous mother.”

Loki reached out and intertwined his fingers with his; power surged through the completed circuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ye olde Triggers for those who'd like to check 'em:  
> -some semi vivid descriptions of in-nightmare drowning.  
> -brief mention of suicide contemplation (but not any acting on the desire)  
> -a boat load of self loathing :( 
> 
> I'm gonna go eat pizza and doughballs now. Join me if you also need cheering up :)


	5. Magical Vambraces Make Tony’s World Go Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all :)  
> No triggers in this one I think.  
> Just some weird Tony snuggling (I dunno what came over me when I started writing this..)  
> Also see the end notes for many stuffs.  
> Enjoy :D

Right now Tony is convinced that embarrassed doesn’t even begin to cover it. Not even ‘completely horrendously mortified’ is a strong enough phrase to describe this situation.  Nightmares are one thing. Night terrors that end with him screaming himself awake and cowering behind the furniture like a three year old while having the mother of all panic attacks are another entirely.

 

And why in frickin’ hell did he decide it was a good idea to cuddle up against _Loki_ of all people. More to the point why the fuck is Loki _cuddling him back._

 

Jesus he needs a drink.

 

Like right goddamn now.

 

Has he mentioned before how much he _hates_ panic attacks? Stiff drink of the good stuff. Right. Now.

 

And holy mother of all geological creation what on Earth is going on with his shiny voodoo juicy life-force stuff.

 

He’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to do that, that whole violent pulsy-stabby thing it’s got going on. He should probably ask about that. Yeah, he’ll do that. Definitely going to ask in the near future.  Cuddling first though. Because really Loki, _really?_

 

“Erm Bambi,” his voice is as scratchy and raw sounding as his throat feels (‘cuz yeah _screaming panic attack_ ), “yeah err, usually I’m all for a bit of platonic snuggling, Steve and Brucie can testify that fact, but I never thought, ermmm,  I never really considered you a viable candidate for, well, this that we’re doing here. For, ya’ know, some fairly obvious reasons. Well obvious to me at least. Maybe not so obvious from your point of view. What even is your point of view? Do you actually consider yourself evil or are you more a chaotic neutral kinda’ guy. Because I could totally see-aaaand that’s all beside the point, yeah completely tangential to the point, the point lies on a whole other vector. Yes. Cuddling. Could we maybe try, I dunno, not doing that?”

 

“No. Stay. Need physical contact. Magic. Needs control. You, magic, stay still.”

 

“Wow you sound wrecked, like even worse than me kinda wrecked. Which given that I was just repeatedly screaming my manly lungs out is quite an achievement. There weren’t even any complete sentences in there, which for you, Rock of Ages, is a sure sign your brain is melting. Here, let me check your ears, see if all that melted brain of yours is dripping out.”

 

“Stark.”

 

“Right, yeah. Physical contact. Magical control. Sit still. Got it.”

 

Tony is well aware how terrible he is at sitting still. It’s not gonna last.

 

“Do we really have to sit with our arms around each other though?” Yup, an entire 42 seconds of stillness (42.75ish actually; he knows exactly, he was counting). That’s got to be a new record. “I mean why can’t we just hold hands or something. That’s still physical contact. Right? Much less weird than snuggle time avec moi surely. Yeah? Ok, admittedly that idea is nearly just as creepy and not a hugely massive improvement, but maybe? No? You’re gonna have to give me something to work with here Lokes. Being noncommittal is one of my all-time favourite things and all but it’s not exactly helpful right now. What’s with the ‘we must be touching’ thing anyway? Because that’s new. We’ve never had to do this before. Probably for the better honestly. Unless you wanted to do this before but just never mentioned it? Really Loki-Doki, if I’d known you felt this way about me sooner I’d ha-mmmfhfhmmmmgghhmmmm.”

 

A hand over the mouth. Really? That’s the best Dasher could come up with? Actually it was probably a good thing that he hadn’t managed to complete that sentence. Ugh brain, what were you even _thinking_ when you boarded that train of thought? He really, really needs to get his brain-to-mouth filter sent off for repairs because it’s clearly defective. Speaking of mouths, the hand over his is starting to get more than a little annoying now. So of course he goes for the mature sensible method of dealing with the discomfort; he licks it.

 

“ _Stark!”_

Yup. Works every time. Except with Clint but he’s a freak of nature anyway and thus doesn’t count.

 

“I guess hand holding is out then.”

 

“Yes.” Loki grumbles back after a moment, still staring disgustedly at his fingers. He wipes them on Tony’s t-shirt. _Nice_.

 

“Sleep Stark. Please.”

 

“Not sure that’s an option right now Blitzen. What with the floor sitting and hugging and stuff.” Which is an out-and-out lie. Tony could totally sleep now even without getting that drink he’s desperately craving. In fact the only reason he hasn’t nodded off again already is the fear of learning what else his dreams might decide to torment him with tonight.

 

“No. Sleep.”

 

“I need a drink first. A proper drink. Then put me back in my own bed and I might vaguely entertain the notion for a moment or two.” Loki’s only response to that is to tighten his arms around Tony even more. Only this results in Tony being twisted round so that their chests are now pressed together rather than the considerably less awkward (but still _very_ awkward) shoulder to chest thing they had going on before. He’s really not comfortable with this new arrangement. Waaaaay too much touchy feely going on here.

 

On the plus side he’s now got somewhere comfortable to put his head that doesn’t involve letting it loll around everywhere and Loki smells kinda good. Like sunshine and rainbows on a frosty morning.

 

_Oh my god brain shut the fuck up._

 

And maybe putting his chin on Loki’s shoulder really wasn’t the greatest idea for reasons other than his traitorous mind supplying him with unwanted thoughts because he’s having a difficult time here keeping his eyes open. Like his eye lids suddenly weigh an extra tonne and that’s not cool because he’s pressed right up against the evil villain who once threw him suit-less out of an eightieth-storey window as if he’s the Trickster’s favourite teddy bear.

 

_I really want that drink. Maybe I can get Steve or Bruce to bring me one. Where even are they? Ugh, Need. To stay. Awake._

 

He’s asleep before the second hand can tick back round to twelve.

 

                                                     -------------------------------------------------

 

Even after four years of the Avengers explaining it to him repeatedly, Thor still has absolutely no concept of what constitutes an ‘indoor voice’.

 

As such Tony’s startled awake the instant the Thunder God opens his mouth and hollers “Brother!”

 

 _Well,_ he thinks, _I’ve been woken up worse ways._

 

And found himself in less awkward positions too. Apparently the whole Loki-cuddling, cringe-worthy-rambling, oh-my-god-what-is-my-life thing hadn’t just been an uncomfortably weird dream because he’s pressed up against Loki and those are Loki’s arms around him and that’s Loki’s neck that his face is smushed against. And by great Galileo, had he really said some of that stuff last night? He can’t even pick up the tattered shreds of his dignity because apparently he’s capable of verbally tearing it up so thoroughly that the pieces end up microscopic. He’d _fallen asleep_ on the god’s shoulder, _by Newton_ he’d actually started to _proposition_ him.

 

Thankfully he doesn’t have too long to spend being horrified with himself because Thor is booming again in a way that must be deliberately designed to burst Tony’s eardrums because _seriously Thor?_ If he wasn’t before, he’s definitely wide awake now.

 

“Brother I have completed the task that you so trustingly bequeathed upon me! Our fair mother has seen the worthiness of your cause and has great desire to aid the Man of Iron! She assures me that she will join us but momentarily with an artefact that should be of great use to you both!”

 

“Thor dearest, perhaps it would be wise to reduce the volume a little? I’m sure your brother and Ironman would appreciate such a thoughtful gesture.”

 

Tony’s so busy being confused by the look of complete adoration that’s suddenly become plastered onto Loki’s face that he almost misses Thor mumbling “Of course, sorry mother” because it’s at the quietest volume he’s ever heard from the Thunderer. He’s not entirely glad that he did actually hear it because between Thor actually _being quiet_ for the first time in like, well, _ever_ , being used as a human duvet by _Loki_ who has _that look_ that he shouldn’t have because evil Space Vikings were supposed to be evil and not _look like that_ and he’s being usedas a _human duvet_ by said crazy reindeer, you hear, a goddamned _human duvet._ Oh, and Thor’s mom aka _the frickin’ Queen of Asgard_ is now apparently in his bedroom and he’s so far beyond underdressed it doesn’t bare thinking about and he can’t even turn and look at her because his back is facing both the room and her because _human duvet._

So yeah, between that and the rest of it, he's feeling a little overwhelmed right now.

And wait, did she just call him Ironman? Like _Iron_ and _man_ in that order? What happened to Man of Iron? If Thor’s mom can say it correctly when she’s undoubtedly only ever heard the name from her sons then why can’t Thor and Loki ever-

 

“Oh you lying conniving lying mischievous _lying_ sneaky pair of LYING bastards! I’m on to you now, both of you! I have you clocked and I’m setting a new land speed record with how fast I’m catching on to you and your name games! Man of Iron huh? Son of Stark? Captain of America? _Eye of Hawk_? Huh? HUH? And yet it’s always, always, always been _Odinson_ and never once _Son of Odin_! Ha, you think you can fool me you pair of cheeky lying sods! Oh revenge will be sweet. Just you wait, you won’t know what hit you.”

 

“By Muspel Stark, do you ever breathe?”

 

“Only when I want to use it to play sweetheart.” _Shit mouth, will you shut up. Do_ not _start that again._

“Perhaps you boys could save that conversation for later? I believe that I’m here to help contain Mr. Stark’s seidr, perhaps it would be wise to turn the conversation towards that topic?”Oh god Thor’s mom. _Loki’s_ mom. He’d just said all _that_ to _him_ in front of his _mom_.

 

_That’s it, I’m gonna install J.A.R.V.I.S in my brain and let him run my brain-to-mouth filter. I wonder if I could modify Extremis to make that possible. If I recoded some of those prototype nanobots I was working on for SI, tweaked them so that they could neuronically bond to my cerebral cortex, maybe using that synapse gel stuff Bruce was jabbering on about on Tuesday… Wait not relevant. Focus Tony, you have royal guests to not embarrass yourself further in front of._

 

“Ah yeah sure, we’ll get right on that your majesty, highness. Queen-ness. Errr. Thor’s mamsy-ness. Whatever. Sorry. Whatever. Seidr issues, lets discuss that. Yeah ok Dasher, this ain’t working. As interesting as the perfectly perpendicular corner behind your head is, I fear that if I continue to deny the rest of the room the pleasure of looking at my handsome visage any longer, they’ll all contract some kind of deprivation-based illness and die a horrible and painful deathly death. Come on, let me do a one-eighty here. I know you just can’t keep your hands off my hotness right now but that way I’d not only be able to see what’s going on, but it would allow you to keep up your apparently necessary levels of gropeyness.” _Wait. Fuck._

 

“Ok that’s it, J.A.R.V.I.S start a new project called ‘Operation: Install Brain Filter’, IBF for short -but I want it boxing free - and then promptly shoot me before I can open my mouth again.”

 

“Certainly sir. Are you partial to 9mm bullets or 38’s?”

 

“That’s the same calibre Jay, and you know it. Smartass.”

 

“Unfortunately sir, my programming does not yet allow me to inhabit a physical body and I therefore do not have, to borrow from your own delightful phrasing, an ass to be smart with.”

 

“The suits Jay, you help co-pilot the suits. They all have beautifully crafted asses.”

 

“Touché sir. Though I will add that there is in fact a 0.02 inch difference between a 9mm and a 38-special, a fact which I know you’re already aware of.”

 

“Oh J.A.R.V.I.S, you beautiful pedantic sexy sarcastic handsome-”

 

“Stark! For my mother’s sake, show some restraint for once in your life! Believe it or not, we have more important things to do that listen to your asinine witless prattle! There, you’re facing outwards. Now be silent or I’ll ensure that you do so by force.”

 

“Oh cuz’ that worked out for you so well last night.”

 

“Silence!”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“Mother I do so apologise for his behaviour. I wish I could offer an excuse, but sadly he is always like this.”

 

“It’s no matter my son. I have found through the years that I have enjoyed young men most when they have a bit of mischief running through their veins.”

 

“Hey Lokes, did your mom just hit on me?  Because that totally sounded like a come- Yeah ok silence got it. Jeesh, talk about death glares. You ought to get that patented.” The glare continued. “Ahhh, silence. Cool. Doing that now.”

 

Now that he could finally see his room and its occupants (and was both awake and distraction-free enough to pay attention to them), his eyes quickly scanned round, taking in every detail. He’s not sure what to make of what he sees.

 

Firstly his room is trashed. Like, completely. The bed sheets are twisted up and strewn all over, there’s shattered mirror glass like, everywhere, the door to his walk in closet is hanging on by a single hinge and the ensuite one is detached completely. His bed side table has been upended and its contents scattered across the floor and there’s an almightily huge crack in the plasterwork on the other side of Loki’s mini single bed-cot-thingy. _Whoa, really was one hell of a nightmare if I don’t remember any of this happening._

 

More important than the need for interior decorators though are the two Ǽsir royals watching him with differing levels of bemusement colouring their features. Thor, as is often the case, is sporting faint look of amusement overlain with a whole load of confusion. Most likely that stems from the more than slightly disturbing flirty nature of the rubbish that was pouring out of Tony’s mouth earlier. Given that Tony himself has absolutely no clue where any of it came from, Thor is undoubtedly even more baffled.

 

Frigga on the other hand, looks both doting and delighted. Like she found the whole exchange charming. It looks, well, _motherly_ , especially when combined with her glowing golden hair, soft features and eyes brimming with both wisdom and confidence. Tony suddenly understands Loki’s look of adoration and it’s heart-breaking; that look encapsulates everything that Tony himself never had growing up.

 

She must sense his sudden change in mood, all traces of his earlier playfulness vanishing, because suddenly she’s there crouched down in front of him, a soft smile lighting up her face and her hands gently cupping his. To his great relief (and he’ll forever be thankful for it), rather than mention his obvious distress, she turns instead to the reason she’s here in the first place and addresses the subject of Tony’s magic.

 

“Ah my sons, you should have come to me sooner. This young one possesses such strength, t’is a wonder that this is only the first time you’ve struggled to contain it yourselves. No matter, I am here now and I know exactly what must be done to calm the storm that is this one’s seidr. Thor darling, bring that case over here.”

 

Thor trundles slowly towards them, a heavily carved dark wooden box cradled in his arms. He carefully sets it down next to his mother and then retreats back to stand in the doorway where Bruce and Steve are now curiously peering into the room from. They obviously want to come in but Thor’s protective stance is clearly saying ‘stay out there’ and so they do.

 

Ignoring the others and looking carefully at the shoebox sized case, Tony realises that the carvings covering it somewhat resemble Áss runes, but ones which have been distorted by what can only be described as ‘artistic license.’ He guesses it’s somewhat comparable to changing the font when typing on a computer to something nigh-on illegible. Or maybe it’s like how English words would come out if you put a bunch of modern artists in charge of designing something featuring them. Either way, he recognises the rune Nauðr and can see that it is represented multiple times, knows that it means need or hardship. It leaves him with a sense of foreboding.

 

The second that Frigga reaches over and carefully lifts the lid, Tony can feel the power leaching off of whatever is contained within and a shiver bodily rolls through him.  Going by his sudden sharp intake of breath and the way he tenses up behind Tony’s back, Loki can clearly sense it as well. Tony’s pretty sure he’s gone rigid too.

 

Then Frigga is holding her hands out towards Tony again, an item held securely in each. Tony isn’t sure what he was expecting to be in the box, but two intricately gilded vambraces were not it. They’re both mostly metallic with a wide leather strip crisscrossing along their undersides and have two buckled straps that hang undone on either side. Crystalline lacquer cover the depressions on both, one a bright crimson and the other a vibrant green, the colours highlighting and emphasising the dull gleam of the blue-tinged golden gilding which winds around both in complex angular patterns. Studying them, he’s reminded strongly of elaborate Celtic knots, but these are less rounded, more blocky and square and somehow more eye catching. His traces them with eyes, follows every twist and turn of the labyrinth-like structures, analyses them from his engineer’s point of view. He’s reaching out to follow the coils with a finger before he realises what he’s doing.

 

His hand brushes over one and the effect is immediate. He’d known that it was, but he hadn’t realised just _how much_ his magic was roiling around wildly until it was suddenly calm. A sense of peace that he hadn’t felt for weeks ( _months_ , if you include coma-time) washed over him. His energy was like the surface of a still lake, almost glassy with not a single ripple distorting its surface, a cool wash of pale gold with shocks of arc reactor blue streaking through it like captured bolts of sheet lightning still humming with energy.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief that felt like he must have been holding it back his entire life.

 

“These are the Uppspretta Styrks vambraces. They were made by my husband’s grandfather, Búri, to channel the power that he awoke from the ice with. They are made primarily of the metal Uru but are coated and decorated with another unnamed metallic element of which the only other sample we know of can be found trapped within the core of the Tesseract. Whatever it is, it conducts seidr better than any other substance ever discovered.”

 

“If I may sir, my preliminary scans indicate that the metal to which her majesty is referring is in fact an isotope of Starkium, the same element that you created to power the upgraded arc reactors.”

 

The looks of pure surprise that he received from all three Æsir upon J.A.R.V.I.S’s announcement was somewhat disconcerting to say the least.

 

“You- you can make this?” Loki asked hesitantly after a moment.

 

“Well kind of yeah. I mean I would need to rebuild the particle accelerator that I had in the basement of my Malibu house first because it got blown to shit by Killian and his goons when they destroyed the rest of the building, but yeah I can. I’ve effectively got a lump of it stuck in my chest.

 

“And before you ask, no I did not name it after myself; Pepper did that. At first I thought it was just a weird isotope of Vibranium but turns out it has two whole extra protons sneakily hidden outside the main nucleus and an electron configuration that’s entirely different from any other previously seen, it’s like it just ignores all the laws of valence and electronegativity. Seriously, I can’t even slot in into the periodic table properly because atoms are not meant to have two separate nuclei. When I told all that to Pep, she snuck behind my back and filed the discovery with the international scientific community. Technically, I have a fifty year patent on it too but it’s sort of pointless given that it’s not naturally occurring, I have full possession of every single gram ever made, I’m the only one who can make it in the first place, and I fully plan on never giving any of it to anyone. So yeah, Starkium, can make it in my basement.”

 

The amazed silence stretched on. Tony was growing more than a little uncomfortable under the intensity of the looks of wonder he was receiving. Eventually Frigga saved him from further scrutiny by moving to strap the vambraces onto his arms. _Yep, definitely like your mom Thor._

 

“There,” she said as she finished tightening the fourth buckle, “you shouldn’t need the physical contact to maintain the seidr-flow loop now. Furthermore you probably won’t need to remain in such close proximity at all times, which I suspect has been the case up until now. You’ll need to test it of course, but I predict that should now be able to safely be a good 500 metres away from each other for up to 30 minutes before you’ll have to spend time in close proximity again. At least until you fully learn control yourself Mr Stark.”

 

“Oh thank whatever you guys call heaven above, Val’s Halls or something. That. Yes. Thank it. Finally no more creepy shower staring! That is the best thing I’ve heard all week! Huuunnggggrthhhh! No no no! Loki! Put me down evil Dasher! Hell in a blender put me down right goddamn now! And wipe that stupid smirk off your face! Where are you taking me dammit? Steeeeeeevey make him stop! Where are my two favourite assassins when I need them to rescue me huh? Oh that’s right Steve; you let Director Furious send them to Washington for the night yesterday!” Steve shrugged half-heartedly and made no move to save him from his current predicament.

 

“Oh do be quiet Stark. Given your condition, you sweated a great deal last night so I am taking you to shower before you scurry off back down to that hole you call a workshop. If I did not, you would undoubtedly choose to skip having one and I’d be forced to spend the entire day gagging.”

 

“Did you just imply that I smell? I do not smell! I don’t smell at all! Except of course, of sugar and spice and all things nice.”

 

“I was unaware that you were a little girl Stark, but I cannot say that the revelation surprises me.”

 

“How- How do you even know that?  That is like, AP Earth-culture and you Æsir can barely pass the 101 course!”

 

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

 

Tony sputtered and laughed the entire way to the bathroom.

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

 

Once he had deposited Stark in the bathroom and ensured that he would not remove the Vambraces at any point, Loki quickly retraced his steps, shooed Thor out of the way and rushed to embrace his mother. He may not be of her blood, but unlike Odin and Thor, she would always be his family.  Norns, had he missed her.

 

“Oh my dear boy, you do not visit as often as you should. You really ought to rectify that.” Loki laughed at that; he hadn’t visited at all. He’d escaped a long term gaol sentence and was technically still a wanted criminal so he wouldn’t be visiting any time soon either.

 

“I’ll see what I can do mother.” He said instead.

 

“And so you should. The courts of Asgard are a duller place for the lack of your presence. You always did know how to improve my days.”

 

“I know how to cause trouble for myself you mean,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck.

 

“You know as well as I do blossom that it only counts if they can actually prove that it was you who did it. I taught you that myself if I recall correctly.”

 

“I did indeed learn my tricks from the best.”

 

“Would you have had it any other way dear?”

 

“Not for the nine realms themselves.”

 

“So I thought. Now. Tell me all about this friend called Anthony Stark that you seem to have made. I want all the details and an explanation of that shower staring comment.”

 

Loki smiled against her shoulder and tried in vain to halt the blush creeping up onto his cheeks.

 

“We’re not friends mother.”

 

“Oh really now…”

 

                                                    -------------------------------------------------

 

When Stark had come stumbling back from his shower properly clothed and looking considerably refreshed, he immediately started trying to coerce Loki’s mother into staying for lunch. Loki watched with some amusement as his pleas slowly became more and more outlandish and inappropriate each time she politely declined; he didn’t seem perturbed in the least by her royal status. Then again in this realm Stark was practically royalty himself.

 

“Anthony love, I-“

 

“Tony. Really, please, it’s Tony.” Loki frowned at the suddenly sullen tone of Stark’s voice. _There’s history behind that reaction. Just how many things has this man been forced to suffer through to cause this many issues?_

 

“Tony then,” his mother continued without pause, immediately switching track and outright telling him her reasons for not staying rather than continuing her teasing, “you know that I dearly would love to stay and attend this great feast of pizza that you speak so highly of, but alas I cannot. Given the urgency of the situation that my eldest relayed to me, I did not pause to inform any of my destination nor my goals. Consequently if I do not return soon, questions will be asked that I would prefer were not. I highly doubt that it will go down well if it is discovered that I removed the Uppspretta Styrks case from the vault so I must find a way to ensure it never is.”

 

“No its ok, I get. The big bad Alldaddy ain’t gonna be happy if he finds out that you stole his toys and gave them to a puny mortal.” He stopped and pulled a face. “Errr sorry. That was kinda rude. I’ll errm shut up now and see you out.”

 

“Tony, as I have already said you need not fear that I’ll be insulted by your words. I know that unlike many men, you mean nothing by them and simply speak in a manner designed to humour others and lighten the mood.” Loki followed as Stark began to lead the small group up to the top of the building.

 

“Ah ok, thanks I guess. Erm yeah, so this is the roof, it’s flat and roofy. Nice big Bifrost pattern magically engraved into the surface. Actually I guess you already saw all this when you got here. You can come see Thor whenever you like by the way. Open invitation, free bed and breakfast, the full works. You could come see Loki too I guess. Though why anybody would actively choose to visit that angry fur ball I don’t know. Isn’t that right Lokitty. You’re just a big hissy pussy cat with anger management issues big enough to rival Brucie’s.”

 

Honestly the pet names that Stark was saddling him with were getting more ridiculous by the minute. He was pretty sure that most of them were somehow related to those reindeer creatures that the mortals believed responsible for the delivery of gifts at their winter solstice celebration but others left him baffled. The plays on his name were often strange enough to cause some confusion (Loopy-Lokes, the Loki-cokey, _Lokitty…_ ), but mostly he wanted to know what on Asgard a Bambi was. And what was wrong with using his actual name?

 

He sighed deeply and tuned out the remainder of Stark’s babbling, choosing instead to concentrate on committing a fresh copy of his mother’s features to memory. He didn’t refocus on the present until she was stepping forward to embrace him and Thor one last time and then with a final “I mean it Tony, don’t take those Vambraces off for anything”, the rainbow hues of the Bifrost were descending around her. When he’d blinked himself free of the glare left in its wake, no trace of her remained.

 

“Wow I always forget how bright that thing is. Hey Brucie-baby, light of my life, sun of my stars, I snuck a peek at Jane’s latest research yesterday and I think I worked out how to solve the issues she was having with the quantum electrodynamics in the Casimir effect being overloaded by the sheer magnitude of energy needed to stabilise a traversable wormhole and to stop it going all Schwarzschild on us. And yes I did ask her before sneaking into her computers. Well I left the electronic equivalent of a post-it note stuck to her research folders anyway. Same thing, whatever. Anyway Bruce, Science Bro meeting now. We have Einstein Rosen-Bridges to discuss and Voodoo-Vambraces to scan and poke at. Lokester, you too. I made this awesome Double-V thingy that does weird and wonderful energy field cancellation stuff a few months back and now I’ve got some amaze-a-balls ideas on how to make it like a bazillion times better; if you tried to plot how much more awesome the Mark II will be on a graph, you’d have to make the scales logarithmic otherwise the data just wouldn’t fit. It’s probably not safe to use it on ourselves right now so I figured we could just make a huge-ass huge one and  test it by throwing it at Victor VonDouchebag.”

 

“Stark, not only did only half of that make any sense what so ever, I’m also afraid  that I have to tell you that no-one has seen Doom since that day on the rooftop six months ago.”

 

“Ooook, why did no one tell me that? I’ve been awake like more than a fortnight and no one thought to tell me the world’s greatest bastard was missing? Also, back inside all of you. It’s chilly out here and I’m half afraid that a small gust of breeze will send me a-toppling. So go, skedaddle. In.”

 

“You never enquired about him before now Stark.”

 

“No excuse. Bruce, workshop now. Steve, you… you go do Steve things. No wait, go to the bar, grab a bottle of Macallan 30 Year Old Fine Oak and bring it and four tumblers downstairs to us. I promised myself a drink last night and I still haven’t gotten it. Loki-Jokes, I want an explanation out of you. Where has Doom gone and disappeared to? I have strong urges to carve his heart out à la Robin Hood Prince of Thieves. i.e. with a spoon because it’s _dull_ you twit, it’ll hurt more. Pretty hard goal to achieve if he’s up and vanished. Oh hello workshop, my heart and home, my other light of my life. DUM-E! You beautiful bag of broken bolts you, oh how I’ve missed you. No buddy, we don’t need to use the fire extinguisher right now. DUM-E no! Oh well, I guess I didn’t need those hover board blueprints anyway. YOU come here and deal with your big brother and his mess. Loki, Doom, answers be awaited here. Chop chop, spit them out.”

 

Loki really had no idea how long the insane inventor had survived as long as he had with a tongue as loose as his. How it had come to pass that he hadn’t yet lost his life in retribution for an ill-advised remark, Loki would probably never know. He answered Stark’s question nonetheless, even if he did try burning holes into the man’s back with a glare. Stark ignored it and set about pulling up schematics and equations to show Banner.

 

“I suspect that the blame for his disappearance can be laid at the feet of Mistress Death seeing as the disgusting vermin chose to use the Magnanvara Ceasestus knowing full well that it is universally forbidden by her for a very good reason.”

 

“Magnanvara Ceasestus? And who the Faraday is Mistress Death? You know what, never mind, leave it ‘til a time when there’s less sweet sweet science demanding my attention. Jay, full scans of my new bling, the whole song and dance routine, bells, whistles and spinning rims included.”

 

“Certainly sir. Not on the clock this time are we?” Loki  was certain he would never cease to be amazed by the way casual way that Stark seemed to be able to repeatedly defy all logic and build the impossible; both his sentient guardian and his ability to create new elements were present in Loki’s ever lengthening list of ‘Things which should not be possible but Stark does anyway’. 

 

“I will have you melted down and give the pieces to DUM-E to play with if you don’t tone the sass down Mister. And don’t go thinking I won’t.”

 

“Believe me sir, having seen your track record I would never believe your threats towards me to be anything other than genuine.”

 

“Brucie you love me don’t you? All my other sarcastic friends are sarcastic traitors who say mean sarcastic things to me.”

 

“I can’t see why you’re surprised Tony,” Banner replied, laughter crinkling his eyes, “you let J.A.R.V.I.S use you as a role model after all so he was bound to end up an even better master of sarcasm than you are.” Loki too was amused by the interaction.

 

A machine to Loki’s right pinged and data began rapidly flowing across several screens.

 

“Scans complete sir. Shall I project the 3D outline blueprints onto the holographic display?”

 

“Hit it Jay. Ooooo would you look at that. Apparently magical vambraces make my world go round. Ok Bambi, based on what these lovely numbers are telling me, I think it’s time. Throw me into Hogwarts cuz’ I’m coming up so lets get this party started.”

 

Loki smiled. He may not have understood the pop culture references, but he could recognise a request for magical training when he heard one.

 

Oh, this was going to be fun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> righteo, few things to list here.  
> 1) for those who didn't know, Áss is the singular of Æsir. (so many ass jokes can and will be made with this ;) )  
> 2) Nauðr is indeed a nordic rune and looks like [this](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b9/Runic_letter_naudiz.png)  
> 3) Uppspretta Styrks roughly translates to "Source of Strength"  
> 4) Apologies for more terrible, terrible science: real information on [worm holes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wormhole) and the [Casimir Effect](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casimir_effect)  
> 5) there is no spoon.  
> 6) lets not even mention how much I butchered science to explain my version of Starkium.  
> 7) lets ignore my brain-physiology butchering too (I'm a geologist not a biologist I'm sorry D: )  
> 8) I couldn't be bothered to go through this one and put it into html so I used the rich text editor instead; if it's come out formatted weird I appologise.


	6. To-ny. Two syllables. Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, There's like another huge-ass list in the end notes so I'll outline the most important things here.  
> a) the first thing in the end notes is a TRIGGER LIST. Check it if you need to before reading  
> b) It's University reading week next week so I have an enormous amount of stuff to do. I've been (more or less) posting once a week until now but doesn't be suprised if the next one's a little later than usual.  
> 3) no wait, c) Mother of science, is writing Natasha pov HARD. Penny for your thoughts delightful readers?  
> d) I let Housemate-Ian quickly proof read this before posting and while I have quickly skim read it since, I wouldn't be entirely surprised if he's snuck something immature in at some random place ;)  
> also finally e) thanks to everyone who's commented, bookmarked, Kudos'd, followed me on Tumblr or otherwise shown their support. Watching the hit counter tick up keeps me happy when I'm suffering in Geochem lectures :)

That’s it. It’s officially been proven. The universe hates him.

He can’t get drunk.

Even after downing two entire bottles of his best scotch in under an hour he’s still stone-cold sober; Extremis is burning the alcohol right out of his system faster than even Steve’s super-metabolism could manage. 

“I don’t see why this is really such bad news Tony. I mean, you’ve gone the entire two weeks that you’ve been awake without a drop.”

“Yes Steve I have, but only because even I’m not dumb enough to mix booze and morphine. Bruce has spent the last week weaning me off it though, so it’s perfectly safe for me to down the good stuff now. Actually Brucie, that’s a thought. How were the painkillers even working? Why is Extremis burning off alcohol but not meds? You realise that that makes absolutely no frickin’ sense, right?”

“It’s because I was giving you a dose high enough to render even Thor unconscious,” Bruce calls from across the workshop. “In fact I was giving you _more_ than I’d give Thor. Extremis has increased the speed of your metabolism so much you could probably drink a litre of pure ethanol and not even get a slight buzz from it, so 1800 milligrams of morphine every few hours or so wasn’t exactly risky. Why do you think I’ve been forcing you to eat every couple of hours when you so clearly can’t stand food right now; it’s a miracle you haven’t started suffering from malnutrition yet. Well beyond what usual coma patients experience, anyway.”

“You were giving me nearly _two entire grams_ of opiates every three hours and that was within your safety limits? Bruce, even I know that the recommended dosage is no more than 20 milligrams every four hours, and that for your average joe taking over 200 milligrams in one go is pretty much guaranteed to be fatal.” He paused, suddenly coming to a realisation. “Wait. Does this mean I can try Thor’s poison-mead without being in danger of actually being poisoned by it? That stuff will make even Steve tipsy. Oh my Tesla, that’s the solution Bruce, I can get drunk on Æsir spirits! Steve this is the best news ever!” 

Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not so sure Tony. I suspect even that’s not potent enough. From the bloodwork I did while you were unconscious, I worked out that on top of your increased metabolism, Extremis burns through anything that your body interprets as toxic. That appears to include alcohol and caffeine as well as other drugs, so I was surprised when the morphine actually had an effect. It’s also the reason I deemed it safe to give you such high doses.”

“You’re fucking killing me here Brucie. Why is this the first time I’m hearing this devastating life-changing information?”

“This is the third time we’ve been through this this week Tony, but on the plus side apparently you’ll never have to worry about someone trying to poison you ever again.” Bruce replied with a fond smile.

“Really? Three times? Oh well, sorry about that. The no-poison thing is pretty cool I guess. Well. Doesn’t change the fact that it also _totally fucking sucks._ Hey Lokes, you got any ideas? Any highly intoxicating spirits you’ve come across in your adventures through time and space? Fire water from Mustyheim? Extreme antifreeze from Yoyoheim?”

“Muspelheim and Jötunnheim, Stark.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” Turning back to the holographic display behind him, his hands began flying about rapidly, moving and reordering the Áss runes currently floating within it. “Thor musically listed all the realms and their inhabitants one particularly memorable night after a whole load of ill-advised drinking games had gotten slightly out of hand because he was being mopey over the Alldaddy lying about the frosty giants. Guy’s not got a bad voice even when he’s hammered. Ha, hammered! See what I did there?”

“What did he tell you, Stark.” Tony froze, the barely disguised icy-fury of the Trickster’s voice instantly making him wary. _Shit, what did I do this time?_

“Ermm. I don’t remember all of it, what with being more than a little intoxicated myself at the time,” he replied carefully, slowly turning back to face Loki and desperately trying to keep his nervousness out of his voice, “I know I have an eidetic memory and all that jazz but it doesn’t work so well after alcohol unit numbero 18. I know there was a whole bunch of stuff like ‘Vanaheim, the land of the fair; Svartalfheim, the Dark Elves’ lair. Jötunnheim, where the Frost Giants dwell; Niflheim, ruled over by Hel.” All very sing song and rhymey-whimy, I tell you.” He chuckled nervously and glanced over at Bruce, hoping the tense atmosphere was not unbalancing the Doctor’s state of Zen too drastically. “But mostly he was talking about Jötunns, err Jötnar rather, and how your- sorry, sorry, _his_ father had lied to him about them or something because you’re one…?” He trailed quietly off, panic filling him as Loki slowly converged upon him. Steve visibly tensed up even more, looking ready to pounce. Tony prayed to whichever deities where listening that the Super Soldier didn’t do anything too rash.

“Oh, so he told you all about the monsters then.” The words dripped like acid from Loki’s tongue. “Told you all about the freak I am? Of how Odin stole me from a race of monsters and murderers? Of how I’m nothing more than a monster myself.” Tony gulped and supressed a shiver, forced himself to continue meeting Loki’s eyes. 

“Pretty sure nobody mentioned monsters at any point,” Tony offered hesitantly. “And Thor was upset with his dad, not you.” Not knowing what exactly the triggers were here other than a vague sense that some form of internalised racism was involved, he was treading as carefully he could manage; this whole topic was clearly a minefield. 

Loki laughed, the bitter humourless sound causing Tony to cringe reflexively. 

“Oh you should indeed be scared Stark,” his voice icy with seething rage trapped just below the surface, “even the green beast you allow to dwell in your home is less a monster than the one that lurks within me. Would you like to meet him Stark, meet the monster that Odin stole for nothing more than politic gain?”

Tony swallowed, all words caught in his throat. Loki was mere inches from him, his eyes glittering coldly down at him with unmasked hate. He reached behind him and gripped the workbench he’d stepped back against with shaking hands, causing it to crumple slightly. _Oh god what do I do? What do I say?_

Suddenly the temperature in the room plummeted. Frost spiralled out from under their feet, running up walls, coating machinery and benches. It flowed out from the epicentre they created, creating a crystalline layer that glistened in the stark white of the electric lighting and the soft orange glow of Tony’s Extremis. Tony only saw the change in his surroundings in his peripheral vision though; his eyes never left Loki’s.

Because the god’s appearance was also changing. Tony had known of Loki’s heritage for a long time, had made Thor describe to him all the races of the nine realms years ago. So he knew all about the Jötnar’s blue colouration and their affinity with ice, of their deep red eyes and the raised markings that decorated their skin. Having it described to you, though, was nothing like seeing it in person. 

His skin was coloured like kyanite, a rich blue dappled with whiter patches wherever light danced over it. The linear markings running over him were darker, following the curves of his face and disappearing under the laces at the collar of his green tunic like geotherms. His eyes glistened red from lid to lid like polished pyrope, shards of ruby trapped in their centres. It was still clearly Loki, but with his features subtly highlighted by the breath-taking colouration.

Tony knew he was staring with his jaw dropped open in amazement but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The Jötunn’s appearance was just so fascinating; so…

_Beautiful…_

His heart stuttered in his chest when a second later he realised he’d said that out loud. Loki was staring at him, confusion furrowing his brow and eyes narrowed. The silence stretched. Nobody moved.

“Can I- Could I draw you please Loki?” The breath that Tony hadn’t realised he’d been holding escaped in a cloud of icy mist as his eyes snapped up to where Steve had begun slowly inching forward. _Oh thank Mendal for Steve and his earnestness; I was about ready to choke on the tension. Surprised the poor guy didn’t completely freak out over all the ice._

Steve looks fine though and now Loki looks even more than confused than he did before.

“Why would you want to?” He eventually stutters out, still not moving back from Tony or breaking the eye contact. 

“Loki, have you seen yourself? You look like an artist’s wet dream. And Stevey definitely considers himself to be an artist. He’s practically drooling over you right now.”

“But I-” His tone suddenly turned harsh and angry again. “I’m a monster Stark. A hideous creature.”

“No Lokes, no you’re not.” To reinforce his point, Tony reached out and traced one of the three markings curving over Loki’s forehead with a finger. It was cold to the touch but not painfully so, Extremis stopping the worst of the bite. Firm –much like the flesh of a fresh uncut apple- but not so much so as to feel completely unlike skin either. 

“Jesus, Stark, you’ll burn yourself!” Loki cries out jerking roughly away. “Or are you actively seeking to inflict frost burn upon yourself, you fool!”

“Hey! You swore in Earth-speak! Also, you’re forgetting Extremis Mr. Smurf. I’m so toasty I could melt even Doom’s frozen heart. No wait, that was a terrible comparison. Doom doesn’t have a heart to melt. He’s a heartless bastard. And it kinda sounded like romantic feelings are involved, which really, mega cringe here. Let’s never mention that I said that ever again. Agreed? Yes, agreed. Good, moving on. Swearing, Lokes. Big step you just made there. Still needs work, need to wean you off the religion based rubbish. No offense Stevey but religions are all terrible terrible lies and deceit. Need to fill your head with the names of some good solid dependable scientists to curse by. Actually Wikipedia says you’re the God of Lies, so maybe you should stick to lies and deceit-based swearing? Not that I believe everything on Wikipedia. Nuh uh. Not this genius. Nope. Don’t ever look at my wiki page, Clint does things to it. More lies and deceit. That thing with the banana? No, just no. Is the thing with you and the horse true? I hope not cuz’ that’s taking ‘horsing around’ to the extreme. That’s maybe even weirder than the banana. And I’m babbling. Out of control ranting. Steve, you’re supposed to stop me from doing this. I will hug you to death in revenge for this grievous transgression. You have broken the friendship code, I demand retribution!”

“Stark, you’re completely insane.” Loki had bled back into his usual alabaster during Tony’s rambling and, with both J.A.R.V.I.S’s and Extremis’ help, the workshop was slowly returning to its usual temperature. 

Tony shot him a blinding grin and wiggled his fingers in his face. The inhabitants of the room breathed a collective sigh of relief upon seeing the look of mirth brightening Loki’s eyes. _Good job holding it together there Brucie._

“Takes one to know one, Snowman.”

\-------------------------------------------------

Three days later and Tony was about ready to gouge his own eyeballs out in frustration. With his new arm accessories doing everything they were supposed to and his desire to learn about his magic stronger than ever, he’d been eagerly lapping up every drop of information Loki could give him. But with nearly half a week gone, only six hours of nightmare-plagued sleep, the discovery that yes, he could drink Thor’s mead but no, it did not get him drunk, and no progress made on actually doing anything with the reflective pool of energy he could always see at the edge of his vision, he was getting more than a little fed up. 

“Why Loki, why? It won’t make any sense unless you actually explain why. Why does this rune represent that flow? Why is that amount of flow needed to do that? Why would you even want to do that in the first place? None of this makes any sense,” he almost sobbed “and this is before I even start on the hows.”

“Stark, I have told you time and time again to stop trying to reconcile this with your Midgardian science. A techno-mage you may be, but none of that will aid you in becoming an _actual_ mage.”

“Yeah yeah, I know, Loki-no-likey the science. But seriously, you think I’m a techno-mage? Where’d you steal that from? Sounds kinda cool, actually. Tony Stark: Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist Technomage. I should have that printed on business cards and hand them out at galas. Speaking of which, Pepper’s been at my throat to get back out in public now that I can go more than 10 minutes without my legs getting all rebellious and collapse-y. She wants me to go to some or the other charity auction tonight and make nice at some slime-ball senator. Something to do with SI stocks dropping because I got all Doom-comatosed and the media deciding I’d died.” 

“I am not going to any of your ridiculous mortal functions, Stark.”

“We’ve been through this Ice-Bambi, my name is Tony. To-ny. Two syllables. Easy. And yes you are. Pepper got you a tux and everything. It’s not like you’ve never worn formal-wear before. I saw the duds you were rocking in Stuttgart, very suave. And I know all about your ability to mingle and play nice from Thor. Seriously, you ask the guy one simple question that may be in some way vaguely connected to you and suddenly he’s waxing rhetoric. Fabio really will take any and all opportunities to sing your praises, sometimes literally.”

“I care not for what the ridiculous oaf thinks of me. Now cease this babbling and tell me again which series of flows you need to conjure a small flame.” Tony sighed and did so, having learnt it off by heart the first time he was shown it.

“…Cen and Cweorp,” he finished, rolling his eyes, “Lokes this is completely pointless, I know all these sequences already, I just can’t do anything with them. And don’t think you can distract me with this, I see this for the half-assed distraction that it is. Gala, you and I are going or Pepper will gut us both.”

“Stark-”

“Nope. Not my name. Insert coin here to try again.”

“Anthony then,” Loki sneered. Tony swallowed and felt the colour drain out of his face. It was bad enough when people used his full name without knowing the history behind it. Loki though, he might not have been explicitly told but he’d had ample opportunity to work it out and had thrown it at him at him deliberately. Instantly he was furious.

“You know damn well not to call me that asshole. Or shall I dredge up all of your daddy issues and wave them in your face? Huh? Remind you that you were never good enough either?” He violently pushed several half-completed projects off a workbench, shouldered past a suddenly guilty-looking Loki and a panicked-looking Steve and stormed towards the stairs.

“Stark- Tony, I apologise, I shouldn’t have-”

“Damn right you shouldn’t have.” He forced Extremis down enough to fiddle with the electronics by the door, overriding the pressure safety hydraulics. “Just when I thought we were starting to get along you had to go and remind me how much of a dick you really are. Don’t come after me Steve, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Tampering complete, the door slammed shut behind him with a satisfying bang. 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Natasha Romanov was used to other people displaying their emotions far more obviously than she ever had or would. Even those who were good at hiding their true ones behind a mask rarely provided any challenge for her; she could often tell what they were really feeling and determine their real motivations after only a few extra seconds of careful study.

There were a few people however, who could occasionally fool her.

Coulson had always been the best that she’d known at concealing what he didn’t want known. Before his death, her handler had been a master at disguising his thoughts and emotions behind a wall of blank tolerance. No matter how you tried, there was little you could do to shake the façade he’d put up when he was determined; she’d known his real feelings were behind it but she had hardly ever been able to work out what they were.

After both fighting and living with Loki for a number of years, Natasha had come to the conclusion that the Trickster god, too, was good at hiding his emotions behind a wall. But unlike Coulson, he was also good at projecting false ones to manipulate the people around him. She regularly found herself questioning whether what she was reading from him was the truth or only what he wished her to see. However, he wasn’t infallible. The methods that the Mischief god used himself could be turned against him and used to trick reality out of him. This is what she had done at their first meeting on the helicarrier, and had done several times since in order to make his continued presence in the tower bearable.

There were several others that she could mention that also presented a challenge, but none baffled her as much as Tony Stark did. He was a living contradiction; there were times when his every emotion was displayed for the whole world to see, and others when he was so closed off she couldn’t have worked out what he was feeling if both their lives depended upon it. Worst of all was that he was capable of acting like the former while really being in a state of the latter. 

When he did that Natasha didn’t even know to look for a mask, and that secretly terrified her. 

The initial source of fear had come when he had invited her and the rest of the Avengers to move in with him (even if initially his primary motivation behind the offer had been to stop the Director from endlessly nagging him about it), and she had very quickly been forced to realise that her initial assessment of him had been completely wrong. It had been the first time that she’d realised that she’d completely fallen into the trap of fully believing what someone’s ‘public persona’ was telling her without having any lingering doubts.

She had already been unsure of her own judgement of him following the Battle of New York –the number of things he’d done that had defied all her expectations made for quite a list, with the Nuke-Into-The-Portal incident sitting proudly at its head- and the following weeks of co-habitation had led her to doubt herself even further.

His argument with Rogers, and the subsequent lecture given by Miss Potts that she’d witnessed, had forced her to conclude once and for all that ‘self-obsessed narcissist’ was about as far from the truth as one could get. It didn’t help her self-confidence where Stark was concerned one bit.

However the argument led her to wonder just how much information both Howard and Tony Stark had managed to conceal from S.H.I.E.L.D over the years. Three hours of trawling through old hospital records, social services’ reports and old newspaper articles, and she’d had her answer. 

Miss Potts had hinted at some of what she managed to uncover, but it was the sheer volume of childhood ‘incidents’ that Howard Stark had paid to have buried that made even her feel slightly nauseous. She wondered how nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D had ever managed to piece this together before now. 

What she did know was that the younger Stark would never forgive her for dragging any of this out into the light of day, and so she resolved to put aside her fear support him in other ways. Watching from a distance, she slowly began to understand which triggers caused him to throw up his masks and hide, and which were severe enough to cause them to break down and reveal what he was really going through. 

Even now though, reading him was still a struggle. There were still times that he convinced her he was fine, right up until he snapped and could hide no longer. But she was slowly learning to see through him, slowly coming to understand him.

This was why, when he sauntered into the communal kitchen and made a beeline for the coffee machine in a manner far too relaxed for his current norm, she’d known something was wrong immediately.

“Afghanistan, water, your reactor, the portal, space, Doom, Loki, or your father?” she quietly asked him as he pushed buttons on the front of the machine. She’d learnt that if you wanted to get any useful information out of him, you had to be direct and not give him time to throw his defences up. 

“What exactly is it that makes you think that me getting coffee has anything to do with any of those?” he replied, his confused casualness clearly forced to anyone who knew what to look for. 

“You didn’t jump when I suddenly appeared behind you, which means you were already anticipating the question.” He paused momentarily at that, the action again imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know what to look for. Natasha did know though, and it let her know that she’d hit the nail on the head with her previous line of inquiry.

“Extremis, my little spider assassin dearest. You forget that my hearing has been so vastly improved that even your sneaky silent footsteps sound like Thor’s thunderclaps to me. I can hear you coming from a mile away these days.” Another forced smile. He downed the cup of expresso in one. Natasha ignored his deflection and took a stab in the dark.

“Loki or your father?” The stab hit its target. He minutely flinched in shock before grimacing and shaking his head.

“Both.” He admitted after a few moments more.

She smiled at his back as he shuffled miserably away, no longer projecting false confidence. She really was learning to read him. Perhaps soon he wouldn’t frighten her anymore. 

But in the meantime she had a God of Mischief to threaten. She supported Stark in other ways.

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

From the looks Loki was giving him, Natasha had well and truly chewed him out. He’d suspected she might after his ‘interrogation’ by the coffee maker, but she must have really torn into Loki to leave him looking so shaken. He refused to feel any sympathy towards him given what the God had said to him; he totally deserved whatever discomfort he was currently feeling. Plus it had had the added bonus of getting him to agree to come to the Gala. 

Well, ok, maybe he was a little sympathetic. Natasha terrified him. The way she looked at him and was able to tell what he thinking just like that was nerve racking. She’d pulled that trick on him again in the kitchen, and while he knew he wasn’t shielding his emotions as completely as he would have liked, she should never have been able to determine the source of his upset.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t witnessed that skill turned on other people with considerably less friendly intentions either. Watching her pull information out of S.H.I.E.L.D’s captives was both thrilling and the scariest thing ever. She wrapped people around her little finger and manipulated them until they were questioning which way was up and whether they really did know their own names. So he could maybe understand why Loki currently looked like a less-than-happy bunny having had that skillset turned upon him. 

Yeah, ok he could admit it, he felt sorry for the guy. So sue him. Besides his sulking was making for one awkwardly silent limo ride. 

“Lokes. Look, you were a total ass earlier. Like a total ass. And I stand by my reaction. But seriously dude, I know Tasha’s one scary-ass mofoer, but you gotta cheer up. Once we pull up to that red carpet, the vultures who call themselves the press will be all over us. Well, mainly me, but you too. You do have your own fan base after all, so you are going to be recognised. I mean, your horde of fans is teeny tiny compared to mine, but after that beautiful stunt you pulled with the billboards you gained enough of them for them to be a force to be reckoned with. Also, that day you turned everyone in City Hall into little yappy dogs? Best. Day. Ever. We got like a tonne of blackmail material to use against the Major that day because Steve-o insisted on dog-sitting him personally. We have pictures. It’s amazing. Any time an argument crops up over who’s turn it is to pay for villainous damages, all you have to do is say ‘chew toy’ and he suddenly starts agreeing with us so fast he must get whiplash. Not that I should have told you that probably. Oh hell, you’re gonna make the Major do all sorts of weird-ass things now aren’t you? Lord, Pepper’s gonna kill me. Please don’t do anything that will make Pepper kill me. Hey I know! What about a deal? You agree to never try blackmailing the Major and I’ll forgive you for using my full name. Yes? That smile is a total yes isn’t it. Ah ah ah, no trying to hide it, I saw those lips curl up. Come on you beautiful frosty reindeer, I’m trying hard here and you’re smothering giggles instead of letting them loose.”

“Tell me _Tony_ , how is it exactly that you’ve somehow avoided being committed to a psychiatric ward?” The quirk of Loki’s left eyebrow and the small smile that he could no longer hold off told Tony that his hastily-assembled plan of ramble-at-him-till-he-cracks was working.

“Hey! Blue-Rudolf does know my name! There is a god! But honestly? Money. They call it eccentricity if you’re rich, rather than insanity. I’m pretty sure that that’s literally the only reason I haven’t been locked up somewhere yet. Don’t tell Pepper I admitted that. Or Barton. Or Fury. In fact just don’t tell anyone. I’d never hear the end of it if you did. Or in the case of Fury, possibly end up actually locked up. He’d take any excuse to throw away the key to my cell that guy. Has anyone told you about the time he put me in a straitjacket and Steve totally flipped out when he found out? I like to call it the case of Protective Steve To The Rescue! No? Nobody told you that one? Alright then. It happened this one time when we were fighting a bunch of low level Hydra goons who were blowing up fire hydrants of all things and one of them- ah shucks, we’re here already. Guess story time with Tony will have to wait. Après tu mon petit ami.”

Happy opened the car door and Tony immediately hustled Loki out. This was Tony’s first outing in public since before Doom. In fact, it was his first time out of the Tower post-Doom at all. Predictably the people on and around the red carpet went wild.

“Chill Bambi, just smile at the cameras and ignore all the morons screaming dumb questions. No Mr. Jones, I am not a zombie, who the hell gave someone as thick as you a press pass? No, no we won’t be answering any more questions at this time. I mean it, no questions. Come on people move aside and let the people with functioning brains through.” 

He placed a hand on the small of Loki’s back and began gently steering him towards the museum stairs away from the crowds. “Wow, this is even worse than that other time everyone thought I was dead and then I went and shut down my company’s main product line,” he quietly whispered to Loki. “That time everyone was screaming PTSD at me from left right and centre and tried to take my company from me. Pfffft, what do they know?”

“You do have PTSD, Tony.”

“Oh Hawking, not you too Lokes.” He groaned. “You’ve been talking to Brucie haven’t you? It’s just a few chronic nightmares, maybe a handful of panic attacks, couple of things that I’m not too fond of like bathtubs and seminars on anything space related. Nothing major honestly, I can deal.” Loki gave him a look which clearly said ‘no, no I’ve heard you screaming, you totally cannot _deal_ ’. Tony took the easy option out and changed the subject.

“I hope nobody sees my new arm accessories. I think I hid them well enough but the last thing I need is for someone to recognise them as Æsir in design and start asking awkward questions. I really do not need yet another thing to deal with. Speaking of bling, check you out Mr. Loki-Doki, Pepper has a good eye does she not? Bowties are totally your thing. Bowties are cool. That was a quote by the way. It’s from this show Britain has called-”

He cut off when Loki suddenly barrelled into him and sent him sprawling to the ground. A blindingly bright light shot down onto the top of the stairs they had just reached the base of. The force of its impact and the resultant pressure wave sent everyone screaming and running for cover. Loki rolled on top of him and covered his head with his arms, shielding both of them from the barriers being thrown wildly around with a barrier of rippling magic. 

“Jesus, Lokes, was that the Bifrost? What the fuck?” When the light blinked out and Loki’s shield dropped, he pushed the Trickster off of him and scrambled to his feet, hauling Loki up with him with Extremis enhanced strength. 

The sight that greeted him when he looked up stopped him dead.

Tony choose to ignore thirty or so spear-wielding six foot guards dressed in armour that appeared to be made entirely out of gold, in favour of gawping at the figure seated on top of an eight legged, _\- a motherfucking eight legged-_ horse in their centre. Tony had never seen the eye patch-wearing, silver-haired giant of a man, but he’d heard enough stories from both Thor and Loki to know that this was- 

“Odin.” Loki growled from next to him. And holy shit did Loki look pissed. _Of all the times to not bring one of my suits dammit…_

“Loki Laufeyson, you are a traitor to the crown of Asgard, a menace to the people of Midgard, a fugitive and a treasonous thief! For your crimes you will face a high trial and your fate and punishment will be decided by those of Asgard you have wronged!”

The words were boomed out across the still cowering crowds, rippling with an edge of what Tony had learnt to recognise as magic.

“Anthony Edward Stark!” Odin turned his piercing gaze towards him and the witty retort he’d about to shout died in his throat. “You are accused of wilfully sheltering a known fugitive, of retaining and utilising artefacts you know to be stolen and of wielding a power neither your own nor fit for your use! You too shall face a high trial alongside the monster I was once fool enough to call son!”

Beside him, Loki choked in horror. He could physically feel the waves of fury roiling off of him, could sense the way he was forcibly preventing his magic from lashing out violently. Tony was pretty sure he was vibrating with anger both physically and metaphysically too. How _dare_ he call Loki that after everything he’d done?

“Now hang on a minute there!” he shouted back enraged, “I’m not even a citizen of Asgard! In fact neither of us are! We’re from completely different planets to the one that falls under your jurisdiction! Which means you have no right to-”

“SILENCE!” Odin roared. Tony snapped his mouth shut. Loki was attempting to inch in front of him but Tony ignored him and moved up a couple of steps, putting himself out of Loki’s reach. 

“Einherjer! Seize them!” Loki’s hands began to drip green energy at Odin’s order and Tony could feel his own magic rumbling fitfully. Pulling his suit jacket off and rolling up his shirt sleeves he took a deep breath and braced for what was undoubtedly going to be a violent brawl for freedom. 

_Goddammit, I am never going anywhere without a suit again._

He was still cursing his own stupidity when he noticed that gold and blue was crackling over his vambraces ominously. He looked back and raised an eyebrow at Loki, silently inquiring why that was happening, only to have his confusion returned with a shrug. 

It was enough of a distraction that both of them were taken completely by surprise when their magic suddenly seemed to drain away from them. Over the past few weeks he’d unknowingly adjusted to always having that golden glow running through him, and to seeing and sensing the soft green surrounding it. Having it torn from him was not only unexpected, but agonising. 

His breathing became ragged, his vision swam and his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool. Dimly, he was aware of Loki screaming next to him, of the stairs rising up to meet him, of his own hoarse shouts scratching his throat raw, but they were distant things, secondary to the horror of feeling only an empty void where there should have been energy. Suddenly he understood where the term ‘life force’ had been derived from. 

He was still shuddering weakly on the floor when he became aware that the gold-clad guards were desperately trying to pry a struggling Loki from his back where the still screaming god had apparently clung to him. He twisted around and grasped Loki back equally as tightly, desperately trying to supress the sobs threatening to tear out of him. 

It was of little use though. Within minutes they had separated them, and no matter how much he flailed about, no matter how much strength he lashed out with, he couldn’t break free of their hold. 

Then they were pulling his arms out in front of him, forcing his wrists into manacles heavily carved with runes. He didn’t have to translate them to know that there was something fundamentally _wrong_ with the cuffs. They screamed with unnaturalness in a way that strongly reminded him of Doom’s spell. The thought tipped him over the edge into panic.

He saw the guards holding him down screaming and staggering away, could _taste_ the stench of burning flesh as they threw their burning hands away from him. He lost all control of Extremis and the granodiorite under him began to soften and hiss as his core temperature rocketed upwards. 

The flat of a golden blade aimed straight at his head was the last thing he saw. 

Fuck, Pepper was gonna be beyond pissed at him for screwing this Gala up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, Huge-ass list:  
> TRIGGERS: ok, so there's only one major one really (other than the usual hints at past torture and alcoholism and the likes). There's some fairly obvious allusions to child abuse, but no descriptions of anything that may have happened. Plus there's some more of me being a heartless bastard to Tony at the end and making him scream and stuff. I'm a nice person really. Honest!  
> Ok other stuff. I kinda allowed my not-so-inner geologist to dribble all over this in some places. so:  
> [Kyanite](http://www.adriennegoff.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/kyanite1.jpg) is one of the three polymorphs of Al2SiO5  
> [Pyrope](http://www.modernjeweler.com/images/article/1199309845109_Pyrope-garnet-by-John-Dyer.jpg) is the Magnesium rich endmember of garnet and is known for being the one most commonly used as a gemstone due to it's rich red colouration  
> Geotherms describe how temperature increases with depth along curves. Amusingly, geotherms on Venus are known as Aphroditotherms.  
> [Granodiorite](http://www.virtualmicroscope.org/sites/default/files/styles/large_carousel/public/s339_19b.jpg?itok=a4pk2A2q) is an acidic (Silica rich) plutonic igneous rock that's mostly made up of Quartz, Micas and Feldspar minerals.  
> Ok Geology aside, I also wrote an entire poem about the nine realms to go in this chapter but decided against using the full thing. Instead I just had Tony quote a little bit of it. If anyone's interested I can add to the end notes?  
> Again, I is Geologist, not Medical Doctor; I have like no none-first-aid medical training so my rambling about Morphine doses is based entirely off what I could dredge up on google.  
> "Après tu mon petit ami" is french for "After you my little friend."  
> The two runes that I mentioned can be seen on this chart [Here](http://www.runewebvitki.com/ASFuthorc.GIF)  
> And finally! Some one mentioned to me (a real life person from real life, le-gasp!) that the Hokey-Cokey is known as the Hokey-Pokey every where else in world except the UK. So I guess Tony should change his nickname for Loki used in the previous chapter to Loki-Pokey. Whatever, I did say my Britishness would probably invade this fic.  
> 'Til next time folks!


	7. An Icy Imprisonment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while (considerably longer than I intended but real life happened) but here be another chapter!  
> Look! No lists!  
> As usual, potential Triggers in the end notes :)  
> Proof-read by Housemate-Ian (ta dude :D)

The first thing Tony becomes aware of is that his head hurts like a bitch.

Secondly, it’s really, really fuckin’ cold. Seriously, his balls were about to freeze off. And he needed his balls. For stuff. Awesome stuff. So he’d really like it if they _didn’t_ freeze off so _come on Extremis, do your thing already._

Which is when he realises that Extremis is already doing its thing and he’s still frozen. _Jesus shit how cold is it in here? Where even is here?_

He would totally open his eyes and look around if his eyelashes hadn’t frozen together somehow. And he would wipe at them with the back of his hand if said hand wasn’t currently stuck in what is probably a lump of ice. _Shit shit shit not good. No, don’t panic, really really don’t panic. Breathe and don’t panic._ He’s highly grateful that no-one is around to hear the pathetic whimpering noises coming from the back of his throat as he thrashes futilely, trying desperately to free himself.

“Tony! Stark! Tony! Lie still you fool, you’re going to flay your own skin off!” 

Oh thank God, Loki’s here too. And yeah ok, that does mean that his whimpers probably were heard but he decides that he’s changed his mind and he can totally deal with that minor embarrassment if it means he’s not actually stuck here alone. Even if it is Loki he’s stuck with.

And what’s with that, he suddenly wonders? When exactly did he stop being constantly infuriated with the Trickster? Ninety-two point seven five percent of the time, the guy is a complete and utter asshole. So yeah, he hadn’t exactly been doing much property damage recently and his death toll during his hissy-fits was now down to, well, basically nil, but there was still that town in New Mexico that he’d levelled the first time Thor came a-calling. And the whole cluster-fuck that was the Chitauri invasion and the Avengers first mission is one _huge_ great big black mark against his name. 

And even if he suddenly obtained moral standards on par with Steve’s and spent the remainder of his life saving kittens and puppies from trees for small children, he would never be forgiven, by _any of them_ , for Phil’s death.

He knew this, knew that that twinge of disgust every time something reminded him of Agent and Loki was in his general vicinity would never stop happening. Knew it wholeheartedly, and yet he still couldn’t help also feeling that he’d be greatly disappointed if Barton ever did manage put that arrow through the Mischief God’s eye. 

Loki killed Phil, and he’s starting to consider him to be a friend anyway. 

On second thoughts, examining his conflicted feelings while frozen to an as yet unidentified floor probably isn’t his greatest ever plan and he should probably stop doing that. Concentrate on more important things like _where the hell are we_ and _what the fuck is that barrier thing holding my magic back because it just feels completely_ wrong.

He’s about to ask about the former when he feels a gentle pressure on his left eyelid. He instinctively flinches back but relaxes when a moment later he hears Loki quietly humming reassuringly at him. Then there’s rubbing on his right eye too, and suddenly he can blink and open his eyes. 

Even coated in waves of glistening ice, shining dully in the light of his exposed arc reactor, the small cramped room is obviously a cell. A shimmering golden screen stands in place of one wall and is clearly some kind of energy force field. Beyond that a brightly lit corridor stands empty and a second - equally empty – ice-coated cell is just visible opposite the one they are trapped within. Despite the amount of light flooding the corridor, very little of it seems to filter into the cell itself, and so it’s dark in a way that does nothing but add to the cloying, oppressive atmosphere. 

Tony glances sideways, trying to see more, wishing he could move his head to survey the rest of the cell, when his eyes come to rest on Loki. The god is sat cross legged by his side, leaning on one frozen wall. His entire lower body is trapped within a crystal-clear block of ice and his back is stuck to the wall he’s pressed up against. His arms remain free however, and one blue hand - as blue as that day in the workshop with Steve and Bruce - is running smoothly up and down Tony’s upper arm, the other resting gently on his left cheek, a thumb rubbing small circles into his temple. 

“So errr, we’re on Asgard right? Or in its prisons, anyway.” He says after a few moments, his voice as dry and raspy as the day he first awoke from the coma. “I mean, glowy gold force fields, magical icy-ness, you’re all blue and I should be all orange and superheated but the only warmth I can sense is from feeling as nauseous as you look which is totally not pleasant. Not to mention the fabulous prison attire. Let me tell you, we both totally rock the plain-white-knee-length-breeches-and-nothing-else look. I’m guessing Odin Allbastard stole my magical arm gear back. And replaced them with something far less pleasant given the god-awful numbness of both my wrists and the walls-of-metaphysical-evil surrounding my life-juice and the all-round sensation of wrongness I’m getting from them. I tried mentally hammering on the walls-of-evil a few times but it’s just making my headache worse. But on the plus side I can actually tell my energy is still there which is a million times better than the sickening sensation of having an empty void there. That was completely awful, feeling it all just drain away like that and leave that nauseating nothingness.

“Guess you’re having the same issue with the headache looking at the pinched-ness of your brow, Comet? The slanty-ness of your eyebrows are outright screaming ‘someone stop the needles from stabbing my brain’. Blame it on your father. It’s totally his fault. He’s a real piece of work, you know. Might even be as bad as mine. Even if he’s not really your father. Sometimes I wish my father wasn’t really my father too. Except I quite like some of the stuff that comes with having the Stark name. Particularly the billionaire bit. Well mostly that’s just me being awesome at inventing and making money but I can’t deny daddy-dearest gave me a huge head start. Even if getting that did mean putting up with the odd beating or verbal lashing or short spate of hospitalisation here and there. What? Why are you looking at me like that? Stop looking at me like that, Loki. Lokes honey-bun, you’re creeping me out with the sad puppy eyes. It’s bad enough when Stevey does it and he’s not a villainous menace with a reputation for evil to uphold like you do. Even if you pretend like you don’t these days and have been playing nice with all my little Avengers. No really, Lokes, I know my dad was a douche, but so is yours and all that stuff was years ago and I’m totally over it. Moving on now. Forward march into the next topic. So chill already. Ha, chill. Get it? Don’t raise your eyebrow at me, mister, I know that that was the lamest and most obvious pun ever but I made it therefore it was awesome. _Cool_ in fact. It was a really cool pun because I made it. So cool it makes ice cubes jealous. No wait, I used that joke the last time we were in a live-action Frozen set. This time round you can be Elsa ‘cuz you have the frosty-the-snow-man powers and I’ll be Anna because we’re both cute brunettes and we can sing about letting go and building snowmen.”

Loki smirked and sang “Let it go, let it go!”

“Holy mother of all Disney, you actually know that! Where does the pop culture knowledge end with you?! I can’t believe evil blue reindeers like Disney films. Do you like, snuggle with a blanky on an old battered couch with a bowl of popcorn? No Tony, stop thinking about it. Because there is something fundamentally wrong with the image that conjures. And as for the singing? Is that just a princely thing or are you both just special because Thor can carry a tune and a half too? Wow, I still can’t believe you like Frozen.”

“Tangled was a superior movie.”

“Oh my giddy aunt, that’s it. It’s official: you are my favourite. Please, please tell Hawkass that. Because Tangled totally was way better and I don’t see what all the fuss about Frozen is for, regardless of what the majority of the Internet and student-kind think. Actually, on second thoughts don’t tell Clint that. Don’t speak to Clint at all. He hates your guts and will take it as an excuse to gouge your eyeballs out with a blunt arrow head. And I quite like your eyes, regardless of whether they’re green or red.” He quickly stopped in horror, realising what he’d just said. “I- I mean – what I meant was I like you with eyes, you know because everyone likes having eyes. Rather than that I like your actual eyes. Why would I do that? I don’t have some sort of thing for your eyes. That would be totally inappropriate. Stop laughing at me you git. The laughing is also inappropriate. Please stop, Bambi! No actually, fine, see if I care, go ahead and laugh it all up. And then I’m gonna let Barton remove your eyes regardless of how pretty they are. Aaaand I’m gonna shut up now. No more eye talk, no more talk at all. I declare that verbal communication will cease and words will no longer be spoken. So mnnnerr. Suck on that silence.” 

Silence was definitely needed right now because good lord, did he need to shut up and stop accidently flirting with Loki. It’s starting to become a _thing_ and he really isn’t sure what to think about that. Which is worrying because he should be thinking ‘Oh god no, this is awful, make it stop’ and if there’s one thing he’s sure about it’s that he doesn’t actually want to stop. _Very_ worrying. 

“Tony Stark, you are a truly ridiculous creature. How do you cope with being this insane without getting locked up?”

He’s jolted out his self-assessing thoughts by the statement, and when he looks back up into Loki’s eyes and sees the mirth there, there’s only a second of silence before they both just burst out laughing. 

“Given that we’re currently l-locked up, clearly- clearly I don’t,” he gasps out between bouts of hysterics. 

Ten minutes later and they’re only just managing to get their laughter under control.

“Oh Einstein, this, this is just crazy.” He continues when he finally starts to get his breath back, still chuckling here and there. “Totally insane. We’re stuck, literally stuck, in a frozen cell, probably miles underground, no magic, no tech, no idea what’s going on, very little chance of rescue, and from what I could gather from your not-father’s angry declarations outside the gala, we’re probably facing a death sentence. And that’s if he doesn’t just decide to leave us down here to slowly starve and freeze to death. Well, might not be so slow for me given the combination of my wacko metabolism and the lingering effects of mild atrophy ( _thank god Extremis saved me from the worst of that_ ). I’ll probably starve to death pretty quickly. And what are we doing about it? We’re giggling like a pair of school girls over lame puns. Oh god, we are so immature and so, so screwed. What’s the probability that either your mom or Thor will manage to intervene before it’s too late? And even if we do manage to get out of here I just know that I’m gonna have a _thing_ with ice from now on which is not fair because I already have too many things and Steve already owns the monopoly on icy-issues.”

“Unfortunately Tony, I find that I honestly cannot give you a reassuring answer. This cell, it’s coated in ice because it’s one of Asgard’s specialised Jötunn cells hidden deep under the palace. There are few living souls that know of their existence and I sincerely doubt that any, even Mother, will think to look down here for us. The only race capable of surviving within them are Jötunns themselves and apparently, thanks to your genetic enhancements, you. Thus, why would anyone search here when as far they’re aware, we wouldn’t survive in here?

“It helps not at all that this ice, it is not natural. It has been created using seidr in a manner that makes my Jötunn side deeply uncomfortable, and somehow supresses my natural ability to call forth my own ice. Our surroundings are also of a low enough temperature to prevent both you and I from using our greater than average strength, simply by sapping our energy. To summarise, the situation is far from good and unlikely to improve.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. I seriously fucking hate magic you know. I don’t say that often enough these days. Magic Ice and magic manacles and magic force-fields. It’s all awful. Seriously, if you have to break physics to do something, you should not do that thing. And yes, I know, I will just have to learn to deal. You’ve said that like a thousand times the last two? Three weeks? But I like physics, Loki-Dokes, physics and maths and engineering and computer science. They’re solid and dependable and they do what I want them to when I want them to. And they don’t result in Space Pirates with A+ parenting skills disrupting and destroying charity auctions in a manner that will guarantee to leave Pepper howling for my head on a stake over the resulting media shit-storm. Seriously, I’m genuinely terrified that she’ll kick my front teeth in while wearing the most solid and pointy pair of high heels she owns. And believe me, she owns a _lot_ of high heels so she has a lot of pairs to choose from. She will make the experience as painful as possible. 

Speaking of which, I’m gonna kick Odin in the teeth myself while wearing killer-heels next time I see him. I seriously hope your mom is making him sleep on the couch for this clusterfuck of a situation that he’s responsible for. Or like, chained him to the floor outside or something. Or! Or she could feed him to one of those Bilgeysnipe thingys that Thor is always going on about and then your mom could declare that Thor now holds the throne and he can declare us innocent of all charges and throw a huge party in celebration with Pop Tarts served as the main course.”

“Ah yes, I’ve tasted these Pop Tarts that my eldest holds in such high esteem. They are a little too sweet for my taste, but I believe I will enjoy a feast of them more than whichever Bildgesnipe is unfortunate enough to have the Allfather fed to him will enjoy his meal.” 

“Mother!” Loki’s head snapped towards the corridor with a speed that had Tony wincing. “Mother, there has to be some way you can convince the Allfather of the foolishness of-”

“Loki dearest,” she cut across him, “right now my _husband_ (and Tony can literally _feel_ the disgust layered in that word) would be incapable of listening to reason if the entire realm’s continued existence depended upon it. But no matter, we have simply opted to take matters into our own hands. Even as we speak, your brother and both his Æsir and Midgardian shield-brothers and sisters are finalising certain details and ensuring our contingency plan can also be enacted.”

“So you and Point Break definitely have a plan then?” Tony asks, “And a backup for if it all goes to shit, because let’s face it, if you let Clint anywhere near your plans, it’ll end up so convoluted it will inevitably fall down around your ears at the least opportune moment. Seriously, the guy is fantastic at following orders but he couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery. There was this one time in Belgrade when Steve asked him to- not important, I’m rambling off track again and should return to the main-line before I derail this conversation completely. Plan?”

“Worry not sweetheart, as I have said previously, I have no issue with your charming vocalisations at all, and the smirk currently decorating my son’s face assures me that he too finds them endearing.” Tony scrunches his face up that; endearing is almost as bad as being called cute, and it’s even worse that Loki really does seem to think it too. Christ, how is this his life?

“Alas, I cannot share with you the details of our plan at this time, but be reassured that forces are in motion and you shall not remain here any longer than absolutely necessary. It is a great regret of mine that I cannot simply spring you from the cell this instant, and must leave you to suffer so for a while longer. I find this treatment of you both to be, to borrow a Midgardian word, _inhumane._ Oh and also Tony dearest, I shall see to it that the Uppspretta Styrks vambraces are returned to you. I can sense how unsettled your seidr is from here without their calming influence.”

“Oh yeah, great, thanks. Despite the weird-ass crackly magic shit they had going on last time I laid eyes on them, I kinda miss them. These tacky replacements I’ve had forced upon me seem to be negating the worst of the metaphysical flailing but I’m still pretty sure that if you tried to sail a boat on ye olde magic’s surface right now, you’d end up ship-wrecked. So yeah, getting them back would be awesome. Plus I miss that greeny-coloured glow that’s usually surrounding me and I guess that’s not coming back till we’re out of here either; it hums nicely and everything is too quiet without it.”

“I shall see to their reacquisition myself, and I know of the green glow of which you speak and can assure you that it will return soon. It is rather pleasant, is it not? Unfortunately I must leave you now my boys, I have already risked too much by coming here at all and I will not endanger you further by lingering. I can, however, slightly improve your comfort-” A glowing golden interface much like one of Tony’s holograms appears beside her, and she alters several of the settings displayed. Tony can feel the slight raise in temperature immediately and sighs in relief knowing that Extremis will soon be able to work some of its own brand of magic.

“-and I will leave you with the promise that both of you will leave here alive and well. Now pay nice boys, I have enough family feuds to deal with as it is.” She smiles at them one final time before turning and disappearing gracefully from view. Tony gawps at her retreating back.

“Lokes? Did she just- does she think we’re _dating?”_ He stammers out a few seconds later.

“Oh and I wonder who could possibly have given her that impression Stark,” Loki replies sarcastically.

“Shut it, Bambi. She’s your Mom. And she was the one throwing words like sweetheart around, not me. Now explain to me again how flows and spells are related, but this time use words that make sense.” When Loki rolls his eyes and huffs in exasperation, Tony allows his eyelids to slide shut and settles in to wait for Extremis to return some feeling to his extremities. Not for the first time today, he found himself thinking _how is this my life?_

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

With the temperature in the room raised just enough to now be bearable, Tony had managed to use Extremis to melt himself free of the majority of the ice and shatter his way out of the remainder. It had taken several long hours and he’d had less luck with assisting Loki himself as Loki’s own icy nature had been refreezing the ice faster than the inventor could melt it. 

Loki wasn’t too concerned however, as the effort of maintaining the slightly higher body temperature had clearly exhausted the mortal; the mad Midgardian was now sleeping fitfully with his head cradled carefully in Loki’s arms.

Even in his sleep, the mortal was neither still nor silent. His restless shifting and twitching was near constant, and occasionally unintelligible mutterings escaped his lips. Loki was aware that there were a number of things that could currently be responsible for disturbing the man’s sleep so, having spent the last six months slowly learning of the various unpleasant situations he’d had to suffer through. Before fate had forced the two of them to remain in such close proximity to one another, Loki would never have guessed that Tony hid such a wealth of insecurities behind his devil-may care attitude. 

Most of what he’s learnt about said insecurities, he’s learnt through his own observations over the past three weeks. The scathing manner with which he treats anyone who mentions his father or uses his full name (Curiously Miss Potts seems to be able to call the man Anthony with little to no repercussions but why this is, Loki does not know). The telling fact that there are no bathing tubs nor any pools for swimming or recreation installed anywhere within the Tower and how he barely manages to supress a flinch whenever he comes into contact with water. The way he subconsciously covers the arc reactor whenever he feels uncomfortable or threatened. The longing gazes he aims towards any receptacle containing an alcohol beverage, in a manner that speaks not of simple desire, but of worrying addiction. The strong anxiety that he clearly experienced on the one occasion that Loki attempted to describe the universe outside of the nine realms, that would have undoubtedly worsened into a panic attack if the Green Beast’s mortal counterpart, Dr Banner, had not been present and managed to calm the distressed engineer. 

He suspects there are other tells that he has missed or overlooked, and he is aware of a few more, from both the discussions he’s had with Dr Banner regarding the condition known as PTSD and the scolding he was given by (a now considered terrifying) Miss Potts when (the equally terrifying) Agent Romanoff all but bodily dragged him to her in revenge for his ill-advised deliberate use of Tony’s full name. 

To his own surprise, he truly does regret that thoughtless lashing out, as - against his better judgement - he has come to enjoy the company of the insane technomage. He finds it truly wondrous that he agrees with his mother’s earlier judgement of Tony’s near-ceaseless babbling; again to his complete surprise, he does indeed find it endearing.

He finds himself worrying how things will work after Tony has mastered enough basic control of his seidr to no longer require Loki’s suppression of it. It has been centuries since he had any true friends; since the incident during the excursion to Nidavellir seven hundred years or so ago, Sif and the Warriors Three had only been courteous towards him when Thor was present (and the bumbling oaf had always remained none the wiser to their mistreatment of him at all other times) and he’d had no contact with Amora since she had turned on Asgard and Thor, except briefly a year ago when he’d adamantly refused to assist with one of her plans and informed her he had no wish to associate with her in any way. 

So it is with some trepidation that he has to consider how likely it is that he shall once again become an enemy of the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D, as he finds himself strongly wishing for the opportunity to discover whether he and Tony could actually maintain the rough friendship they seem to have developed. 

He’s also all too aware that the patient and forgiving nature of his behaviour towards the inventor is wildly out of character, and that never before has he been this eager to form any kind of relationship, platonic or otherwise, with any other being, both inside and outside of the nine realms. It is also rather telling that he is now only using the Midgardian’s first name even in the privacy of his own thoughts. The implications of all of this are a topic he has been strenuously avoiding contemplating ever since he realised that he was being unusually forgiving several days ago. 

He does not particularly want to dwell on them now either, but trapped stationary in this cell as he is, with the genius in question asleep in his arms, he finds that – try as he might – he cannot avoid doing so.

Rather than futilely attempt to deny any possibility of a relationship deeper than friendship ever developing between the two (he’d unknowingly given up this course of action when that day when that day in one of Stark’s tower’s kitchen, his mother had first forced him to admit that he did actually enjoy the man’s company the majority of the time, and then secondly tricked him into admitting that he found him pleasing to the eye) he forces his mind to list all the possible reasons why such as thing could never occur.

First and foremost on this list is the reaction Tony’s friends and associates would have. As it is, other than Tony and Thor, only Captain Rogers and Dr Banner have shown any kind of friendly behaviour towards him; the captain no doubt because he is (according to Tony) physically incapable of being impolite to literally anyone and the Doctor because he frequently forgets with whom he is conversing (if his sudden panicked looks mid-conversation and stumbling excuses to relocate himself elsewhere are any indication).

The others of Tony’s acquaintance currently react to his continued presence with either (very) grudging acceptance (Miss Potts, Agent Romanoff, Commander Fury) or outright hostility (Barton and nearly the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D) and he strongly suspects that they’d all shift towards the latter should he attempt to grow closer with the engineer. 

He is aware that their alienation of him is primarily his own fault, but that does not prevent him for resenting their hatred of him. After centuries on Asgard, he is more than used to being treated with loathing, dislike and deep mistrust. But as his attempt to conquer Midgard is their primary reason for their animosity, he cannot help but feel that their judgement is unjust, as he’d only done so after the highly unwanted ‘manipulation’ by _him_ had taken place (ok, he hadn’t exactly informed anyone of that but really? Did they honestly believe that he actually wanted to be saddled with the responsibility of ruling an entire realm, especially one as large and filled with petty, pathetic beings as Midgard is?).

Also high upon his mental list is Tony’s reaction to any overtures he might make. Having been on Midgard for several years and deliberately immersing himself in its inhabitant’s culture in order better blend in when he needs to, he his painfully aware of the meaning of Tony’s appellation of ‘playboy’. The list of his ‘conquests’ would be impressive even on Asgard (even taking the Æsir’s considerably longer lives into consideration) but is also noticeably devoid of men. 

(And - much to Miss Potts, Captain Rogers and Commander Fury’s outrage and horror - thanks to one drunken press conference wherein a reporter had foolishly questioned the man’s eidetic memory and claimed that the ability was only found in children under six years of age, the list did indeed exist. As proof of possession of the ability, he’d chronologically rattled off all the names of over six hundred women, barely pausing for breath and when finished, added into the resulting silence that there were another thirty seven whose names he’d never learnt.)

(It goes without saying that he’d been banned from attending press conferences alone after that – or so Dr Banner had told him after Tony had shown him an Internet video of the incident.)

He’s not sure if this seeming exclusivity for ‘relationships’ with women is due to Stark only preferring the fairer sex, or simply because he is far more discrete where men are concerned. He hopes the reason is the latter because he is very much aware how tedious it is to convince an adamantly straight man that he may enjoy, as the mortals put it, ‘swinging the other way’, a hope that is somewhat supported by the fact that man flirts shamelessly with anything that moves (and some things that don’t) regardless of gender.

His thoughts grind to a horrified halt when he realises he’s stepped away from listing reasons why such a situation can never occur, to planning ways he could perceivably convince Tony that sleeping with a male would be a pleasurable experience. If that’s the way his thoughts are turning, then he is in far more trouble than he previously realised. 

_Yggdrasil be damned. It has not even been a full moon’s loop since the man awoke and only half that time ago you still hated his very guts. He’s a mortal for crying out loud! A mouthy, arrogant,_ damaged _mortal whose presence you could not stand less than a Midgardian month ago!_

Perhaps it is time he stops denying that there is a connection between their two life-forces; it is clearly influencing him even more than he dreaded when he first felt the two energies resonating. From his early comment to Loki’s mother, Tony is obviously aware of it too, even if he is unaware of its significance. 

He really ought to examine it more fully, but if turns out to be the full-fledged seidr bond that he suspected during that first resonance and still fears may have formed now, he does not know what he’ll do. If he really had been catching tiny glimpses of a golden glow shot through with blinding-blue surrounding him- 

A particularly violent jerk from Tony tears him away from his troubled thoughts of magic and bonds, and after doing his best to soothe him back into a calmer state of sleep with quiet words and a gentle hand through his hair ( _and isn’t that reaction to the man’s distress revealing?_ he sneers silently to himself), he forces himself to focus on attempting to form a plan of escape should his mother’s fail. 

Loki sincerely wishes he could have faith in his mother’s plan but, like Tony himself, he is worried about the effect certain people’s input could have upon said plan. Unlike Tony, it is not the Hawk’s involvement that trouble’s him, but Thor’s. Far too many times has he been responsible for a plan’s outright failure when his hot-headed temperament gets the better of him, his patience snaps and a reckless, thoughtless action is taken by him.

So he tries to consider their other options. 

He has plenty of ways to return them to Midgard or any other of the nine realms, once they’re out of this thrice-damned gaol block and free of these cursed manacles; that is not a problem. What is a problem is that he cannot think of any way to fulfil either of those first two conditions. His previous escape from Asgard involved trickling minute amounts of seidr energy through a nearly microscopic hole in the bindings upon his magic into a well-crystal. Unfortunately, even if he had still been in possession of the crystal (it had shattered upon his arrival to Midgard two years ago), he would not have been able to use this method again as Odin had apparently learnt from his mistakes and had used magical bindings of a different and more impermeable (and of a far, far crueller) type. 

After briefly considering other methods of magic pooling and mentally prodding at his bindings again (and Tony was right, needles to the brain was a fairly accurate metaphor), he sighs and disregards the idea completely. 

He’s contemplating the idea that Tony may be able to understand and alter the technology that controls the door-shielding as the man truly is a genius (terrifyingly, he is perhaps one of the greatest to have ever lived) when a small contingent of Einherjer suddenly barge their way into the cell and unceremoniously haul both of them to their feet. 

Stark awakens the instant the temperature in the cell suddenly raises high enough for the guards to survive, but both he and Loki are too preoccupied with cowering away from violently shattering shards of ice to make use of the short amount of time before they were both being manhandled into a second set of manacles and chained together. When he finally manages to concentrate on what is happening, he realises that their newest bindings must be as effective as the cell at muting their elemental powers; the building glow under Tony’s skin instantly dies as soon as they are fastened around his wrists and ankles and Loki feels the chill of the unnatural ice settling into his bones when his are clamped shut.

And then, their protests ignored, they are both being dragged away down the corridor towards some unknown fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite as dramatic a cliffhanger (I think?) as last time but sufficiently evil to satisfy my evil urges.
> 
> TRIGGERS:  
> Odin being King of The morons (no worse than the previous chapter)  
> Howard Stark's FANTASTIC A+ parenting in the form of some brief but obvious mentions of child abuse  
> Housemate-Ian insists that "Horrible Stoki" is also a trigger but I shall allow you to form your own opinion on that ;)
> 
> Probably be a while before chapter 8 is out as there are reports and assessments and exams oh my! upcoming


	8. A Trial and Some Excitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello glorious readers.  
> It’s been nearly a month since I last posted. I am a bad person, I know. But I’m home for Christmas now, so new chapter!  
> Proof read by my Mummsy. She’s awesome. Say hi everybody!  
> Housemate-Ian says hi too  
> So without further ado, I present to you Odin, king of the douchebags and this year’s recipient of the father of the year award!

Contrary to popular belief, Clint Barton didn’t really give a damn that he’d been mind controlled by Loki and the Tesseract. 

Sure, for about a week or so afterwards he’d been a little unsettled and mildly uncomfortable in his own skin, but he’d soon gotten over it. Because it wasn’t like he’d been made to do anything truly horrendous. He’d shot a couple of security guards while going after the iridium and he’d blown up one of the Helicarrier engines but that was about it; he hadn’t even injured any S.H.I.E.L.D agents during the Helicarrier assault, except for that one guy who was caught in the edge of the explosion. 

And other than ordering him to find someplace to hide and to gather up some personnel, Loki had pretty much ignored him, spending far more time and effort monitoring Selvig. Well except for that time he’d come asking about the potential members of the Avengers Initiative. And even then, the Trickster hadn’t exactly forced the information out of him. For lack of a better explanation it was almost as if Loki had been trying to make small talk with him, given that he’d also essentially asked about the weather and if he had any plans for the future. That Loki had been able to use Clint’s answers in his attempted goading of Romanoff on the Helicarrier later, was probably nothing more than luck for the Chaos God. 

So yeah, Clint really wasn’t all that bothered. He’d sulked and crawled around the vents for a week (and, yes, he had heard that terrible nesting pun you were about to make. Honestly, he’d heard them all by this point and you really weren’t original) and avoided anyone who wanted to drag him off for therapy. And then, when he’d gotten fed up of Natasha’s silently judging stares, he’d told himself he wasn’t to blame and it was time to move the hell on; Stark had fixed the Helicarrier’s engine and he’d been ordered to shoot far too many people over the years, without bothering to find out who they were, to be upset over a couple of dead security minions. 

No, the reason that he loathed and hated Loki was because he’d murdered Phil. Agent Coulson had been Clint’s handler for years and had been his best friend for nearly as long. And Loki had stabbed him through the chest and waltzed away like it was no big deal. (Granted he was just as pissed at Director Fury for using Phil’s murder to manipulate Rogers and Stark rather than treating his death with the respect it deserved, but unfortunately Fury was still his boss so there wasn’t a lot he could do about that.)

So when two years ago, a forlorn looking Thor had informed them of his little brothers escape, Clint had been furious. Since Asgard clearly couldn’t be trusted to keep the bastard locked up securely, he’d sworn that night that he’d deal with the problem himself and put an arrow through the god’s eye socket.

Of course that had been before the whole Doom on the rooftop fiasco. By god did that complicate things! Because he really, really wanted to carry out his cornea-carving plan but he wasn’t willing to put Stark’s life on the line do it because he kinda liked the nutcase genius. Sure, he’d come across as arrogant and self-centred initially, but the guy actually had one hell of a sense of humour and a near childlike selfless nature once you looked past the public façade. Hell, the man had Captain America singing his praises on a daily basis, well, once Steve had gotten over that handful of god-awful and wholly incorrect pre-conceived notions he had anyway, and if that wasn’t a strong character commendation then nothing was.

So he’d resigned himself to having to wait until after Tony had gotten his crazy magician powers under control before he could enact his revenge. 

So, he wasn’t Bruce levels of Zen, but Clint considered himself to be a fairly laid back guy. He could be patient. Besides it wouldn’t be that long before Tony worked out his new mojo; the eccentric billionaire was scary levels of genius, in fact, like utterly terrifying levels of genius, after all. Point in case, the Professor X meltdown incident, which played out like so:

About six months after the Chitauri attack, Reed Richards and the other Baxter Building residents (and Victor Von Doom of course) had returned from a space expedition all super-juiced up. This, of course, led to the formation of The Fantastic Four and the public’s acceptance of both them and the Avengers superhero teams finally convinced the X-Men to go public. 

Fury had pounced upon them with an enthusiasm that spoke of years of previous frustration, sweeping them under the protective arms of S.H.I.E.L.D and signing members up for consulting gigs left, right and centre. As a Senior-Agent, Clint had known about Charles Xavier (aka Professor X) for a fair few years and nine months ago, he’d finally gotten to meet the telepath. The idea had been for the leaders of each of New York’s three superhero teams to meet and form ties to one another. Both Clint and Natasha had been aboard the Helicarrier that day under the pretence of handing over completed mission reports for filing, but they’d snuck into the conference room at the earliest opportunity. Xavier and a younger man by the name of Scott Summers were in attendance, as were Richards and Susan Storm from the Fantastic Four, but Clint’s own team mates were noticeable by their absence. 

However, before he could begin imagining possible reasons for their lack of presence, Rogers and Stark had swept into the room, Steve with a faintly embarrassed look of apology and Tony with his usual cocksure paparazzi-grin. Clint wasn’t sure what sure what reaction he’d been expecting from the others, but Charles Xavier twitching and going nearly catatonic hadn’t been it. 

After over an hour of panicked scrambling and frenzied questioning, it came to light that Tony had been the source of the problem. Or rather, Tony’s brain had been. Xavier was well accustomed to the minds of geniuses and their multi-level thinking patterns, not only having worked with and trained more than a few over the years, but by being one himself. He was adamant however, that absolutely nothing could ever have prepared him for dealing with Tony’s thought processes. According to the Professor, Stark thought on over twenty different levels simultaneously, all at light speed; information and ideas and streams of numbers zipped through his mind at a rate which would undoubtedly fry most people’s brains. The result of this was that just being in the same room as him was painful for the telepath. 

Upon hearing this, Stark had waved off everyone’s concerns with his usual snarky confidence and a “Seriously guys, why d’you think I drink so much? I have to shut my brain up somehow so that I can sleep”.

No one had known how to reply to that, so the team meet-and-greet was written off as a failure, the idea sent back to S.H.I.E.L.D’s drawing board, Stark was officially reclassified from Genius to Super-Genius (and by god did that inflate the man’s already overblown ego) and was told to stay away from Xavier and everybody went back to their normal daily own lives. Well as normal as life gets for a bunch of superheroes anyway. 

_Normal is definitely a relative term_ Clint thinks to himself from his corner in Frigga’s sitting room. Because not only was he _on another planet_ with a group of superheroes and Viking gods, he was trying to save the (possibly) most intelligent man in the universe (who was now also a human volcano and could do magic…) _and_ the god he’d sworn bloody revenge upon (frosty powers and more magic) from that planets mentally unstable (and magical!) King. 

Yup. And Clint had thought life was weird _before_ he’d joined the Avengers. 

Oh and he was totally going to castrate and then slowly bleed Fury to death when they got back to Earth because Fury’s secret weapon for freeing Stark and Loki?

Well let’s just say enraged didn’t even begin to cover Clint’s reaction to discovering that secret. 

It certainly made the whole Loki thing even more complicated.

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Tony was sick to fucking death of not knowing what was going on. Both he and Loki were currently sat huddled against the back wall of what Loki had quietly informed him to be one of the antechambers off of the Grand Throne Room. No one had spoken a single word during all the time they’d been there. 

He’d given up trying to goad the twelve or so stonily silent guards crammed into the room with them about an hour or so ago, and was instead trying to keep his breathing under control and trying to ignore the anxiety roiling in his gut. Across the room he could hear a gradual crescendo of voices filtering through the door, despite it being closed and bolted. For the amount of noise they were generating, the crowd in the hall must be more than a little sizeable. Tony was desperately trying not to think about it. 

Loki too was obviously doing his upmost to keep his face blank, but having been around the mage constantly for three weeks, Tony could see the subtle cracks around the edge of his mask. They told Tony that Loki wasn’t really holding up any better than he was. 

Being this close to Loki in his full Jötunn glory while Extremis was forcibly muted was also bloody freezing. Even if they hadn’t been chained together, he wouldn’t have moved away because they really needed to stand together through this ordeal, but the intensity of the icy waves emanating from the mischief god was gonna give him frost bite all down his left side at this rate. And the flimsy white breeches they were both dressed in weren’t helping in the slightest either.

He seriously wanted these goddamn manacles off, if for no other reason than that would let Extremis kick in properly and warm him up.

A huge cheer went up in the hall, the very walls seeming to shake. The guards finally turned towards them.

“I guess that’s our curtain call Loki-Doki.” The trickster’s lips twitched as he allowed himself to be hauled to his feet by the Einherjer.

“I was rather hoping this wouldn’t be our final bow Tony-Wony.” Tony tried to keep a straight face at that, he really did. But in the face of a nickname that ridiculous he had no hope. His composure cracked and he would have doubled over with laughter if their gold-clad escorts hadn’t been holding him up by his chains. Of course that set Loki off too and so they were both hauled into the Throne Room cackling like maniacs.

The size of the crowd and the disgusted looks being sent their way soon sobered them both up though. Even in a room this humongous, Tony was sure that the law of conservation of mass was somehow being broken in order for it to accommodate this many people. The crowd stretched back further than he could see and the cacophony that they were creating was nearly deafening. People from all classes of life seemed to be present, with men clad in rough homespun standing shoulder to shoulder with women dressed in long and flowing elegant gowns, and children of all ages sat atop shoulders or peered curiously from behind legs. Tony suspected the entirety of the city’s population was present and from the way Loki’s face turned a very pale shade of blue this large a number and variety of people was a very bad omen. 

They reached the bottom of a large staircase and Tony pulled his eyes away from the crowd. Two heavy hands came down on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees and Loki clattered down next to him having been subjected to the same treatment. He sucked in a breath, plastered a smirk to his face, and forced his head up to meet Odin’s one eye. 

From atop his overly ostentatious throne, the AllFather sneered down at them both before clambering to his feet. With a bellow that clearly demonstrated from where Thor had acquired his own thunderous vocal tendencies, he demanded silence.

“Ooooo very Dumbledore,” Tony snickered quietly to Loki once the throng behind them had quieted down.

“Not so much troll in the dungeon as troll in the throne room right?”

“Actually I think you and I should be the only ones doing any trolling.”

If looks could kill, Odin would have offed both Tony and Loki by this point. As cliché as it sounded, Tony could only describe the glare sent their way as murderous. He suspected it was as much to do with Odin’s ignorance to the meaning of their words as it was to their ignoring of his demand for silence. 

“You will respect your superiors and be SILENT!” Odin’s second roared command was enforced with a wave of magic that clamped his mouth shut and immobilised his tongue. He felt a flash of panic before he realised he could still breath fine through his nose, but rather than allow Odin the satisfaction of witnessing his discomfort, he schooled his features into an uncaring blankness.

Next to him, Loki simply raised his eyebrows once before staring off into the distance, and letting a look of boredom glaze over his eyes.

Odin clearly wasn’t impressed by their silent show of defiance but chose to ignore them and instead, turned his attention towards addressing the crowd. After the first five minutes of listening to the AllFather drone on and on about the glory of the realm and the superiority of the Æsir compared to other races, Tony tuned him out in favour of wondering where Frigga, Thor and the other Avengers were. He hadn’t seen them amongst the general populace when he and Loki were dragged through the centre of them, but with his current position meaning his back was to the hall, he had no way of determining whether they were there now or not. He suspected not.

Whether that bode well for whatever their plan was or not, Tony didn’t know.

Realising that Odin was finally turning his speech towards the trial, he dragged his attention back to the proceedings. His heart sunk slowly into his stomach and he had to fight down as a wave of nausea as his introductory speech quickly made it abundantly clear that this was a ‘guilty until proven innocent’ situation. The only way they would leave this hall with their lives still their own was if they could have the charges against them proven false. 

With Odin in charge there was fat chance of that happening. 

Oh God, they were so screwed. 

While he was still trying to push past his increasing sense of dread, a tall, blonde haired man clad in red and black livery that had Loki sharply drawing in a breath, stepped away from the front rows of the audience and moved up the stairs to stand just below the throne. From the inside of his sleeveless tailed jacket he drew a large, deep red scroll, bound and twined with a golden ribbon and passed it across to a second similarly clad Æsir who had followed him up to the second from top step. They both turned and bowed low, first to the king and then to the assembled crowd behind them. There was a near-deafening clatter and from the corner of his eye Tony could see that every single man, woman and child had dropped to one knee. Tony swallowed hard and desperately tried to ignore the way Loki was trembling against his side.

Above them, the two Æsir deftly unwrapped the ribbon from around the scroll and stretched it out between them, the first of them descending to the base of the stairs so that it was held up near vertically. A cruel grin curled across Odin’s face like a vine of poison ivy pulled taut and he rose slowly to his feet. Three times he banged the butt of his golden spear against the floor and smug satisfaction laced his voice as he spoke the words that would be burned into Tony’s mind forever more.

“For their crimes against Asgard and the Nine, Loki Laufeyson and Anthony Edward Stark have been sentenced to judgment by the Higher Circle. Unless proven innocent, they shall both face the punishment decided by the Circle. 

“Loki Laufeyson is accused twice-fold of high treason against the Realm Eternal, of wilfully visiting death and destruction upon the realm of Midgard and its people, of stealing without remorse from Asgard’s vaults, of hiding his true monstrous nature from the innocent population and of wilfully avoiding detention!”

“Anthony Edward Stark is accused of knowingly sheltering and associating with a fugitive of Asgard, of possessing artifacts stolen from the golden realm, of using them to further his own insouciant agenda, of utilising a power not his own, and greatly unsuitable for a simple mortal in conjunction with these, and by extension of his willing association with a criminal of Asgard, of also committing high treason!

“If any contest these charges, evidence to the contrary should be brought forward for consideration by the Circle now!”

No one stepped forward. Magically gagged as they were, they couldn’t speak up for themselves either. Tony prayed to whichever deities may be listening (Thor and Frigga included) that that plan was going to kick in to action sharpish because they weren’t going to get out of this otherwise.

“Then in accordance with the judgement of the High Circle,” Odin continued, wearing a smile more vicious than any Tony had ever seen on Loki’s face, “you have both been found to be guilty and shall be sentenced according to the severity of your crimes.”

As Odin stepped forward to record the judgement upon the ancient scroll in blood-ink, ( _blood-ink!_ the very idea of that was unsettling) the anticipation throughout the Throne Room was palpable. If they’d been seated, Tony was sure the crowd would be right on the edge of their chairs. He shifted his hand sideways to carefully grip Loki’s wrist above the manacle, squeezing in a way he hoped was reassuring. 

_A rescue right about now would be good guys!_

_Please guys!_

No rescue was forthcoming.

With Loki trembling beside him, Tony gritted his teeth and stared defiantly at Odin as he announced their sentence and signed away their lives.

When he realised their fate, Tony had never been so furious in his life.

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

He hadn’t seen nor spoken to any of the Avengers, nor any of their associates for a number of years.

He was more than a little surprised that he’d been allowed to do so now. But Fury had decided that the current situation required his area of expertise and so here he was. On Asgard of all places.

He should have known that it would be Stark who would be the first to cause a major intergalactic incident.

He smiled sadly to himself and ran through his mental itinerary again. Both his and Pepper Potts meticulous planning should more than ensure that the plan should come off without a hitch, but he would check and double check every possibility, extrapolate out every permutation and plan for every eventuality. Experience had taught him that to do otherwise was to court disaster.

The plan itself was surprisingly simple; it was the details surrounding it that needed careful consideration and large amounts of research. His primary concern was whether or not the Æsir law books that Thor had brought before Pepper and himself were accurate and up to date. The Thunder God had been unable to obtain any of the tomes or scrolls of law held within the Hall of Records due to the constant presence of the members of the High Circle, whom Odin had the entirety of under his thumb. Instead, he had scoured through both the Grand Library and the Archive Annexe for any volumes that had somehow escaped the notice of Odin’s loyal underlings and thus not been moved. Thor had managed to gather up a surprising number, but many were of dubious quality and the information gleaned from within them required large amounts of crosschecking and validation. 

Frigga had been an invaluable resource. They were gathered in her suite in the Royal Wing of the Palace and it was clear that she did not support her husband or his endeavours in the slightest. Over the last sixty or so hours, she had provided a great deal of help by being more than willing to clarify or discredit any of the laws within the tomes that were brought to her attention. More importantly she was also ensuring their continued presence on Asgard, by preventing Odin from either placing them all under arrest or banishing them all back to Earth. It seemed that she managed this through force of will alone. Many a servant and guard had been sent scurrying back to Odin empty handed by her firm words and confident manner and many more found themselves leaving instead to carry out some task appointed to them by the Queen. 

He was, if he was being honest himself (and he usually was), quite impressed.

But even with both Frigga’s and Pepper’s brisk efficiency on his side, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something drastic would occur that they hadn’t been able to plan for. Given that it was Stark that this entire endeavour was for, he would even go as far as saying that unprecedented chaos was inevitable. And that was before one also considered that the other party in need of their intervention was the God of Chaos. 

As he understood it, Godhood was entirely separate from ones race and you could either be born into it or have it bestowed upon you by either the Norns, or by a higher God or Goddess -such as Frigga or Hel (the Goddess of Death)- if you were deemed worthy. As such the majority of the Æsir were in fact, not Gods. The form that one’s Godhood took depended mostly upon a combination of the recipient’s personality and skillset; for example, Thor was the God of Thunder because he was often loud and boisterous but also inspired awe in those who saw or heard him. This meant that a God or Goddess would essentially be empowered by their strengths. But the most curious part of Godhood, he thought, was that it had absolutely nothing to do with worshippers or being worshipped. That apparently was merely a side effect of being seen as more powerful that those without Goodhoods, much like celebrities had fangirls and boys back on Earth. 

Right now this was a problem because Loki’s Chaos epithet was apparently entirely accurate. The Jötunn’s mere presence was -according to his mother and brother- enough to cause random occurrences and unprecedented events. Given the nature of their plan, this was something they’d all rather like to avoid. If things got too out of hand, or Odin simply did as he pleased regardless of the consequences (a possibility with a worryingly high probability of occurrence), then they would be forced to fall back to Plan B which could be summarised quite succinctly as ‘grab Stark and Loki and get the hell outta Dodge’. Not the most eloquent of plans, but it would suffice in an emergency.

He would much rather their primary plan succeeded though. There was something quite satisfying about the thought of burying the King of Asgard under a mountain of legal paperwork. Then again, Fury had once told him (with debatable amounts of sarcasm), not long after Thor had initially explained this, that if he were to ever receive his own Godhood, he would undoubtedly turn out to be the God of paperwork. 

He found he didn’t mind that idea as much as he probably should.

(When the conversation had turned towards what the various Avengers would be Gods of, they had gotten no further than contemplating Rogers (God of Righteousness and Justice) and Stark before they had hurriedly changed the topic. The thought of Stark as a God was enough to leave even the most resilient men fearing nightmares)

So, he’s here on Asgard working with the Avengers again. Even with the current situation, he can think of far worse ways to spend his time.

He’s mentally envisioning the positions that the Avengers (minus Bruce and Natasha because the Hulk travelling through the Bifrost?......probably not a great idea, and Natasha had stayed behind to liaise with the F4 and the X-men) and the Warriors Three will be taking up throughout the Grand Throne Room when Thor comes barrelling into the suite, a look of terror darkening his eyes. 

“Mother! Mother! A disaster most terrible has occurred! It would appear that father has taken the decision to move the date of the High Trial forward and ensured that none would be able to inform us of the change! Already the Court and the Townsfolk and Countrymen are gathered in the Grand Throne Room and the general greetings are underway! I fear that even if we were to leave this instant, we would arrive too late to stand in defence of our Shield-Brothers!”

Thor’s panicked announcement was met with horrified silence. Then suddenly everyone was springing forward at once, manuscripts being grabbed, uniforms being donned and weapons being strapped on. Grabbing his own equipment and share of books and paper, he began hurriedly attempting to adapt their plans to deal with this unwanted development, calling out ideas as he thought of them.

 _Well,_ he thought to himself as he stepped out into the hallway after Pepper, _This isn’t good._

Not good at all.

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

 

That Bastard! That complete and utter _Bastard!_

Sentenced to be publicly Blood Eagled! Cut down after eight turns of the suns! Drowned until death! 

It’s like he knew exactly what Tony’s greatest fears were!

Like he knew exactly how to make this ordeal as bad as physically possible for Tony!

_Total! Fucking! Bastard!_

He couldn’t even decide which part of their execution was going to be worse; having his back sliced open and his ribs snapped outwards and then being left to hang from a tree for over a week ( _open heart surgery with no anaesthetic. He screams as Yinsen cuts through his sternum…_ ) or being held under blood laced water until his extremis-enhanced lungs gave out ( _They force his head under over and over and over and he agrees just to make them stop…_ ).

And then to top things off, their bodies were going to be thrown off the edge of the Rainbow Bridge into the Void. At least they’d already be dead by then. Well, he really hoped they would be. Odin would show that much mercy at least right?

Actually, fuck this. He wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out.

Fuck these stupid fucking manacles and that stupid fucking magical block and the stupid fucking plan that was supposed to save them.

Fuck this utterly fucking ridiculous execution.

Fuck Odin and the horse he rode in on.

Fuck everything.

Loki had once told him he could one day be one of the most powerful beings in the universe. And right now he thought he was just about angry enough to make that day today. 

He snarled and punched through the mental block with enough force to send everyone around him flying.

For the first time in his life, Tony reached out and consciously grasped his magic. Blue and gold energy rippled through him and sparks and bolts dripped from his fingers and shot across his skin. Extremis, freed from its confines, flared up and his eyes burned like twin embers of burning coal. Patches of golden orange danced over his body, working in tandem with his seidr to melt down the chains still hanging off of him and a single thought shattered the manacles clasped around Loki’s wrists and ankles too. 

Electron energy levels! It really was that simple! Motherfucking God of all physics, _magic has absolutely everything to do with Midgardian science! Ha! Take that Bambi!_

Each flow of Seidr matches up with the energy absorbed or emitted by an electron when it gets excited or de-excited; give it the right amount of energy and the electron will move closer to the nucleus of the atom it’s orbiting. Wait a bit and the electron will spit that energy back out as photons. Magic was goddamn photons! Just not ones that fit into the normal electromagnetic scale! 

Magic was bloody particle physics!

And Tony had been studying that since he was three years old. 

Not to mention Loki had taught him exactly which combination of excitations and de-excitations he needed to use to all manner of conjures and spells. All he had to do was work out what amount of electron volts corresponded to which rune. And he was Tony Goddamn Stark! He’d worked out half of them already!

He reached down and hauled Loki back to his feet. His face was a mixture of disbelieving shock, complete awe, grim satisfaction and determination. Forest green seidr flowed up the trickster’s arms and glistening crystal frost spiralled out around him, hissing and steaming where it met with Tony’s volcanic heat. 

Behind them, the crowd began to scream.

Tony smiled as both he and Loki turned towards Odin.

One might say the bastard was fucked. 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Phillip J Coulson pushed through the crowd stampeding out of the Grand Throne Room with growing anxiety. Whatever the hell was going on in that hall clearly involved a large number of explosions, if the ear-shattering booms were anything to go by. 

He thought he’d missed working with the Avengers while he’d been off with his own team pretending to be dead. The sight that greeted him when he, Clint and Steve finally forced their way through the last line of people convinced him that he was far better off staying clear of them and all their insanity in the future.

Goddammit, he was going to kill Stark himself if they both managed to survive this! 

Fury knew nothing! He wouldn’t be the God of Paperwork!

He’d be the God of Clearing-up-Stark’s-messes!

(And no, Pepper did not own the monopoly on that epithet.)

God-Fucking-Dammit Stark!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the rescue plan really was ‘Phil and Pepper’s paperwork of doom.’ And you know that totally would have worked if not for Odin’s ridiculousness.  
> I realise that my explanation of how [ Electron Excitation ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Excited_state) works is a bit vague; I apologise for that. Feel free to ask if you want more info :)  
> The throne in the [Throne Room](http://www.filmbuffonline.com/FBOLNewsreel/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/OdinThroneRoomBigger.jpg) on Asgard. T’is big and gold :O  
> [ Blood Eagle ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blood_eagle%20)executions were as barbaric as they sound. They’re pretty much as Tony described but you’d have your lungs carved out and salt poured into the wound too. Nice! D:
> 
> Also, I promise to go back to chapter 7 when I've got time and fix all the horrendous typos :/


	9. How to Break and Make a God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year All!  
> I hope you all had a good Christmas too :)
> 
> And to every single one of you who's subscribed, bookmarked, commented or fed me delicious Kudos, seriously majorly massive Thank You. Especially those of you who comment every chapter :D *adoring gaze of gratitude*

Tony felt like a God. 

The golden energy roared within him, surging through him and over his skin, connecting him with every facet of the universe. The world around him came alive as shocks of arc reactor blue danced around him, scuttling across his arms, over his face, sparking between his fingers. He grinned and hurled a surge of forge-hot flames towards the throne, feeding it Extremis’ heat and binding it to his control with seidr. He could see everything, _do_ anything, _become_ anything.

Odin was toast. 

Then again, maybe Tony was overestimating his magical ability just a tad.

Not by much. Just a tiny smidgen. A small amount of overconfidence perhaps. Just a little. It’d be fine. He’d be fine. Really. Honest!

Oh alright, he has no clue what he’s doing and has about as much magical finesse as Thor has understanding of human pop culture. He could do the necessary math, sure, and he could work out what rune matched up with what amount of energy, but putting that into practice was proving a little difficult. The result? Odin was completely pummelling him. 

He was pretty sure this was how Loki must have felt after his very first play date with the Hulk and the floor of Tony’s penthouse suite.

He swore he’d never tease the God over that ever again. 

Within about two minutes, he’s pretty sure that without Loki on his side, he would have permanently bit the dust by now. The number of hits he’s taking, and the violent manner in which he’s being whipped and thrown around, has left him with his head spinning and seeing stars. The Einherjer and their goddamn lance-spear thingies really weren’t helping matters either. 

He was however, doing his damnedest to give as good as he got. He quickly realised that what he lacked for in precision and intricacy, he could quite successfully make up for with pure brute strength and speed. Abandoning his attempts to construct proper seidr-flow patterns, Tony lashed out with massive waves of raw power, completely staggered by the sheer amount of energy he held at his metaphysical fingertips. And with the practically supernatural speed of his thought processes and reaction times, he was soon thrashing Odin just as soundly as he was being thrashed himself. 

The fact that he was also still utterly furious helped immensely. 

_Yeah! Take that you stupid Bastard!_

Heaving yet another of Odin’s gold-clad guards that had strayed in too close over his shoulder, he turned and threw himself down hard under Odin’s retaliatory, electrically charged wave of tarnished-silver seidr, his wrists snapping painfully beneath his weight as he landed. He gritted his teeth against the agony, pushing the pain down with his own anger, and used his momentum to roll smoothly to his feet. Silently, he blessed Natasha for the last three years of always forcing him into two hours of hand-to-hand and combat training every other morning. It was proving to be quite useful as he kicked out and slammed his feet and elbows into whoever was dumb to step into his range with Extremis enhanced strength.

Seidr-laced Extremis raced down his arms as he spun into yet another another kick, finally healing the cracked bones, and he quickly pivoted and blasted a beam of pure energy up towards the dais where Odin crouched snarling. 

The blow impacted the Allfather square on his chest and sent him sliding back towards the crumbling throne. But the War-God spun his own spear around and braced himself against it, twisted around it, and threw out another volley of silver power. 

Tony swore as the God’s blaze narrowly missed his head, and he tumbled inelegantly into the swarm of Einherjer behind him. Cuts opened up all over his legs and upper body as they pounced, immediately turning their blades upon him. He pulled Extremis to the surface again, sealing over the bleeding wounds almost as fast as they were inflicted and he used the volcanic-like heat that came with the healing to rip off one of the guard’s chest plates. 

The guard screamed as molten metal bubbled hotly across his chest and the man flailed wildly, spinning away and crashing into his comrades, knocking several of them down as if they were bowling pins. 

Tony used the distraction to throw a wave of force down onto the cracked floor beneath his back, propelling himself up into the air and up and over another of Odin’s seidr attacks. He tumbled in the air, directing his seidr-force from his feet and hands, much like he would his suit’s repulsors. Again reacting like he would if he were in his suit, he flipped himself upright, hurled the deformed chest plate at the Allfather à la Steve Rogers, and used more magic to send a widespread concussive blast outwards. 

_Oh lord, sorry Lokes._

He winced as the shockwave he’d created barrelled into not only Odin and the Einherjer, but into Loki too, sending him flying. The vibrant green shards of energy that the Trickster had been weaving around himself like a hundred deadly blades collided with one another, spiralling uncontrollably in all directions. A great cacophonous boom reverberated throughout the Throne Room when more than a dozen of the blades smashed explosively into the high vaulted ceiling and Tony shrieked in anguish as he felt the force of the detonation rupture his ear drums.

Extremis once again flared up to repair the damage, and he tried not to panic, but he’d already reflexively clamped his hands over his ears. Without them to stabilise his improvised flight he pitched forward and plummeted helplessly downwards, cringing in horror when he realised his trajectory was straight towards the enraged King of Asgard.

He slammed into him hard enough to pitch them both straight through one of the winged backs of the throne, its gold-metallic structure tearing and splintering outwards. They crashed into the gilded wall behind hard enough to create massive jagged cracks, rupturing outwards like an angular spider’s web, and lumps of glistening rock showered down onto them where they’d landed sprawled below. 

Tony took the worst of the impact, having been twisted behind Odin as he ploughed into him. Searing pain lanced through his entire body and he gurgled weakly as a hot gush of blood bubbled up his throat and poured out of mouth. He tried desperately to turn his head, to empty his mouth, to prevent his drowning in his own bodily fluids, but every small movement resulted in a fresh wave of agony.

 _“Tony! Tony!”_

Loki’s anguished cries pierced through the haze of ringing static that filled his hearing. He twisted toward the distant sound, screaming wetly through the blood still clogging his throat when his entire body protested at the movement. He spasmed against the floor, internally screaming at Extremis to hurry the fuck up and fix his shattered spine and ribs, begging the techno-virus to get it’s ass in gear. 

Hollow booms echoed in the distance as Loki desperately fought to reach him, his facial expression telling Tony that the Chaos God had just worked out what Tony known -and was fervently trying to deny- the instant he had smacked into the wall; after more than a full day of working at maximum capacity, first in the dungeons and now here, Extremis was too over-taxed to function properly any longer and he was none-to-slowly bleeding to death.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck! Please No! Not Like This! Oh God, I wanted it to be quick! Broken like a battered rag doll! Drowning in my own blood on a distant planet!_

_I can’t do this again!_

Odin staggered to his feet beside Tony and hefted his golden spear.

_Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me._

_Bad Odin. Bad Odin!_

_Shit!_

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

When he, Clint and Coulson had pushed through the last of the crowd, the others gathered behind them, Steve had stood there frozen in shock for several long seconds.

He’d known about magic for three and a half years. He’d known that Tony was capable of wielding it for over six months. He’d listened to Tony and Loki discussing that fact for the nearly four weeks. 

He was still wholly unprepared for what he was currently witnessing. 

“Holy mother of all that Stark deems blessed,” Clint whispered in awe beside him. 

Coulson made a strange strangled noise before uttering, “I swear to God that man is going to be the  
death of me. The death of the entire Human race. The whole goddamn universe, given half chance.”

“I think I concur with that assessment sir.” Steve was too busy staring across the hall at the paranormal light show and supernatural displays of strength to be surprised by Agent Coulson’s unusually emotional outburst. The whole situation was more than a little unusual after all.

Beams of light and energy ricocheted off every surface, crackling in blue, green, gold, silver. Booms reverberated off the cracked and broken walls and ceiling, hoarse shouts and screams filled the air, the sound of metal grinding on metal rang in Steve’s ears. Every way he looked, guardsmen were thrown, stone and mortar exploded through the air and Áss weaponry and armour were sent flying. 

And in the centre of it all Stark and Loki danced and spun like ethereal beings, wielding forces not meant to be witnessed by mortal eyes. Once, years ago, Steve had stood in the back of a Quinjet and told Romanoff that there was only one God. Here, in this hall on another planet, he watched his best friend twist and weave, surrounded by his own golden light, and thought maybe it was time to revise that statement. Even if he still didn’t agree with the clothing. 

A shot of silver tinged light narrowly missing Tony’s head pulled Steve out of his awed stupor. Suddenly remembering that that was his best friend out there fighting for his life, Steve released his shield from its magnetic clamps and plunged forward into the mêlée.

He charged forward, swinging left and right with both his shield and his fists, Thor at his back. The Thunder God bellowed with the rage as he watched his father unleash blow after blow in Loki’s direction, before careening away from Steve, intent on going to his brother’s aid. For his part, Steve launched his shield towards the group surrounding Tony, who was hollering more obscenities than Steve had heard in his entire time in the Army. 

His shield slammed through four rows of palace guards before bouncing off the back of the one closest to Tony. The enraged genius inventor grabbed the front of the man as he was tipped forward by the impact and ripped his chest plate clean off. The guard staggered away screaming, and Steve watched as he collided with a dozen other Æsir.

Then he noticed that Tony was flying.

Without his suit.

_What in God’s name?_

Steve’s jaw dropped. Three of the guards’ near him did too. At least Steve had seen Tony doing gymnastics and aerial acrobatics before now. The guards around him gawped in amazement, their attacks completely forgotten as they watched Stark flip and twist through the air, and launch the chest piece he was still clutching towards the dais with a move that made Steve smirk with appreciation. 

They were all so caught up in it that none of them anticipated the shockwave that blasted out from Stark and swept them all off their feet. Sprawled out on the floor none of them were ready for the second, bigger blast either. The only other time Steve had been so appreciative of Vibranium’s unique properties had been on the day he picked his shield up for the first time and Peggy had shot at him. 

Lurching uncoordinatedly back to his feet, he only had a moment to wonder after the wellbeing of his friends and comrades before he felt his heart leap up into his throat for the fourth time that day. 

Behind the splintered remains of the throne, Tony was just visible, a battered, bruised and bleeding heap. He shuddered once and a fountain of blood spurted like a crimson geyser from his mouth. 

Across the hall, Loki was thrashing uncontrollably, screaming himself hoarse, desperately trying to reach the prostate body of the billionaire. Steve felt a tiny thread of relief stir within him at the sight of Thor and Barton crowded unharmed behind the hysterical Chaos God, and another as he spied Frigga and the remainder of the group further across the hall, equally unharmed.

Seeing Odin looming over Tony with his spear poised to strike squashed that small feeling completely. 

Steve didn’t even think. He snapped his arm out and his shield flew from his hand before he had time to even begin processing the reaction.

He watched it spin across the hall, hoping against hope.

Odin’s arms began their deadly descent.

The vibranium disc didn’t quite manage what Steve had been praying for and didn’t knock the spear from God’s grasp.

But it did lodge in the side of Odin’s neck with a sickening squelch. 

The spear clattered noisily to the floor, falling from the Allfather’s lax hands. The old God seemed to twitch violently once, as if in defiance of reality, before his head dropped and his shoulders drooped. He slumped to the side and collapsed down to lie beside Tony.

In the silence that followed, you could have heard a pin drop.

Steve didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified; crazed tyrant or not, the man had been a husband and a father. He’d just killed Thor’s father.

Oh god, how was he ever going to be able to look Thor in the eye again?

He forgot all that the instant a strangled cry of agony echoed across the room.

Oh god. _Tony!_

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Loki hadn’t moved from his seat next to the stasis chamber for three days. He was pretty sure his poor mother was at her wits end.

Part of the blame was Loki’s. He was refusing to sleep until Tony awakened and his mother was less than impressed with him over it. 

The majority of her stress could be traced back to the prone engineer. The main problem was rather ironically, being caused by Extremis. Not only was the techno-virus causing Tony’s body to reject all forms of Æsir healing, it was also stubbornly refusing to ‘reboot.’ As Extremis and Tony’s seidr seemed to somehow work in tandem in a way that baffled Loki and Frigga and every other Healer or Mage that had tried to help, they couldn’t get the mortal’s magic to heal him either. What they really needed was a way of feeding Extremis the extra energy it needed to start working properly again that his body wouldn’t automatically reject. As they were currently lacking that, they’d done the only thing they could think of and installed him into a stasis chamber. It was a stop-gap measure at best, but it would prevent Tony’s condition from degrading further until a compatible cure could be found.

In the meantime, Loki was adamant that he was going to remain and watch over the only man he could currently call ‘friend’.  
Predictably, sat on the opposite side of the chamber, Captain Rogers was also a constant companion to the comatose genius. 

_Just like old times hey?_

“What was that Loki?” Loki looked up in surprise. He must have gotten so wrapped up in his own mind that he’d spoken out loud without realising. 

“Nothing Rogers,” he sighed, “Just musing to myself on the over familiarity of our current situation. In truth I had not planned to vocalise my thoughts at all. Tony’s bad habits must be contagious. Norns have mercy upon us if we all become infected with it.”

Rogers chuckled dryly at that.

“Steve, please. Call me Steve. I’m pretty sure we’ve spent enough time in one another’s company these past seven months to be on a first name basis by now.”

“If that is what you wish Steven.”

“It is Loki. Especially given that you’ll undoubtedly be hanging around more often in the future. Well, if our resident insane inventor and complete and utter madman has his way, you will be.”

“Yes, I imagine he will attempt to insist upon my presence. And he does have a certain flair for craziness, does he not? I swear upon Yggdrasil, that ludicrous mortal is ten times more a trouble magnet than I have ever been. And I’m the God of Chaos.”

“What’s this you’re chatting ‘bout Stark? Any potential blackmail material?” A third voice asked, humour colouring his words.

“Barton. No.” 

“Awww, but sir!” The archer pretended to pout at Coulson’s denial, but the second agent merely raised an eyebrow. Barton huffed loudly once, and shook his head, before the pair of S.H.I.E.L.D agents moved from their positon in the doorway, further into the small room. Barton flopped bonelessly onto a third wooden stool near the wall, whereas Coulson opted to remain standing at the foot of the raised platform of the chamber. 

“So _Lokes._ Blackmail material?” Loki raised an eye at the archer, surprised that he was acknowledging his existence at all, let alone addressing him. Barton eyed him back just as coolly, before launching into a rant.

“Yes, yes, I know. So you didn’t kill Phil. We’re all completely shocked and terribly grateful, but you’re still a total ass, so forget your snappy retort and just be happy that I haven’t carved you’re eyeballs out yet. Actually I might still do that anyway. Get them glazed to preserve them and gift them to Phil as a trophy for surviving you.”

“Barton!”

“Aw come on Coulson, you’d like them really! I mean, he stabbed you a little less fatally than we all thought, but he still stabbed you! So consolation prizes are totally in order! And did still kill like a bazillion people with his stupid portal and army of aliens! You can all pretend that everything’s fine now, but I’m gonna carry right on remembering that the Battle of New York did actually happen and that Antler-Boy here is to blame!”

“Actually, I don’t think he was.” Steve’s quiet assertion silenced Barton’s tirade in one fell swoop. Even Coulson looked taken aback.

“…You what?”

“I don’t think that Loki was responsible for the Chitauri invasion.” Oh Valhalla be damned, Loki did not want to have this conversation right now. Steve was obviously oblivious to Loki’s apprehension. “Well think about it. I mean, it was Tony who pointed it all out to me originally, but Loki’s behaviour has been completely different since that very first attack.” Apparently they were having this conversation right here and now regardless of what he wanted. 

“Well I guess so yeah,” Barton hesitantly replied. 

“And we’re all fairly competent with regards to battlefield tactics right? We know what works, and what the best ways of achieving our field goals are. And Loki’s a prince of a warrior realm, so he’s probably pretty good at tactics too right? And yet his invasion plan involved opening a single _bottlenecked_ portal right over a major population centre where everyone could see it. If we can work out that the best plan would have been to open it somewhere inaccessible, then why wouldn’t Loki have worked that out too? Somewhere like the North Pole where all the magnetic interference would have prevented Bruce and Tony ever detecting the wormhole until it was too late. Or in outer space where we would never have reached to set up a defence no matter what we tried.”

Barton and Coulson looked stunned. A range of emotions flickered quickly through Barton’s eyes before they suddenly narrowed.

“Aha! No! Wait! I distinctly remember Tasha telling me that Crazy-Goat here chose New York and The Tower as his stage specifically because he needed access to Stark’s arc reactor. There aren’t any arc reactors in the North Pole or in Space!”

“Tony thought of that too. And what he actually said that _any_ large-scale reactor on the planet would do, arc reactor or otherwise. Even then, when he and Bruce checked out Selvig’s portal machine, apparently all that was needed was a small electric blast to jump start the process and the Tesseract did the rest of the work. He could have used bog standard electrical generator for that purpose, or even just four or five rewired car batteries.”

“You’re telling me that Loki could have opened the portal with goddamn _car batteries_?!”

“That was about my reaction too.”

“What the fuck man?” Barton asked, turning to Loki, “what the hell was the whole thing about then? And now I think about it, you didn’t exactly do a lot of commanding once the Chitauri came through; they pretty much just ignored your existence once they started blowing shit up.”

Loki took a deep breath and swallowed. He really didn’t want to have this conversation; it dragged up far too many memories. He clasped his hands together, trying to control their shaking, hoping nobody had noticed.

“Loki?” Steve sounded more than a little concerned. “Tony was right wasn’t he?”

“Shit,” breathes Barton, “I think you drove him into have a panic attack Cap.”

Loki doesn’t really care what Barton thinks, because he can’t stop shaking, can’t stop thinking about _him._

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Just breathe Loki.” Of all the things he expected to happen to him in this life, Captain America crouching in front of him, rubbing his shoulders and trying to calm him down was not one of them. Then again, he always did believe that the universe had a sense of humour.

Thankfully, he does eventually get his breathing under control. All three men were watching him expectantly now though, so he supposes he will have to tell them _something._ Maybe not everything, but enough to satisfy their obvious curiosity. He carefully gathers his thoughts and after a moment, he begins to speak. 

“I- I can’t- His name- names have power in the right situations. It’s- It’s too dangerous for me to ever utter his name, but there is a being, a- a hideous _creature_ , a _monster_ viler than any other in the universe. He worships Death, is in fact deeply in love with her. He seeks to court her by bringing death to the universe and the Nine Realms. He nearly succeeded once. Wiped out two thirds of all life in the universe. 

“And when I fell back out of the void, _he_ found me. And he had that blasted Gemstone and that hideous staff that he crafted from its power. The Mind Gem. Barton, I believe you are more familiar with its effects than any being would ever desire to be. There are other Gems, and he desires them. And he desires the artifacts crafted from their power. The Tesseract is an example of such, the result of the combined might of the Space Gem and the Power Gem concentrated on a single shard of Starkium. So his decision to send me to conquer Midgard was a way for him to kill two birds with one stone. He gets the Tesseract. And he gets to end the mortal lives of humanity as a gift to his lover.

“I resisted at first, but he had an entire year to break me. An entire year spent as the plaything of The Other and his other loyal servants. I gather he did not succeed, as he apparently resorted to utilising that godforsaken sceptre on me. Thus, most of my memories of my time on that unholy rock on the edge of the Void are blessedly nothing more than a hazy wash of blue static. It is the one thing I can thank him for, that I barely recall any of my time spent under his power. I suppose I really ought to thank your Dr Banner too for freeing me from _his_ influence, even if the green beast did have to repeatedly smash my skull against Tony’s floor to do so.”

“Cognitive Re-calibration. Yup, Tasha clocked that one alright.” 

He had been growing more confident in his retelling as he continued, but Barton’s interruption threw him back off balance.

“I’m sorry what?”

A raised eyebrow from the Hawk.

“He hit you really hard in the head.” Loki presumed there was some kind of in-joke there, as both Rogers and the archer looked far more amused than the remark warranted. 

“Yes, quite,” he eventually replied, unsure how else to respond. He was thankfully saved by Coulson and his practical, straight forward mannerisms.

“So there’s a megalomaniacal tyrant warlord gunning for the Earth and a bunch of magical crystals. Fury’s going to want an update. Dibs on not completing the paperwork for that ensuing debacle.”

“Coulson, honey. Of course you’re doing the paperwork. That’s the only way we’ll get Fury to believe any of this madness.”

“Ah, there you all are. Thor and I were beginning to wonder where you’d all managed to scurry off to.” Loki sighed in relief at the appearance of his mother. Then his once-brother also stepped into the room and his uncertainty resurfaced. Behind him, Loki felt Steve tense up. 

They were both highly unsure where exactly he stood with Thor right now. The Thunderer did not seem to blame Loki nor Steve for their part in the near-death of his father, nor for the resulting political uproar, but he had gotten considerably better at masking his emotions and intentions of late. Therefore Loki had no idea if Thor would continue his old habit of insisting that they were brothers regardless of blood or not and Steve was unsure where their friendship stood. 

Like Tony, Odin too was currently in a stasis chamber but was unlikely to leave it any time this millennium. This left Frigga to take up the mantle of the throne. Many had called for Thor to take his place as King, but too many others objected as Odin was technically not yet dead. To complicate matters further, the War-God had never re-declared Thor fit for coronation after his first banishment to Midgard. Loki would have been all for simply letting Odin die of his wounds, but that would potentially leave Captain Rogers guilty of regicide. As the punishment for that crime was execution (and not a clean one), no one was keen to allow that to occur. 

Basically, Loki was rather hoping to return to Midgard as soon as possible and thus avoid becoming embroiled in the whole mess. Whether or not Thor forgave him and Rogers would be up to Thor himself, and was a decision that could wait until they had left Asgard. 

But that wasn’t happening until they somehow healed Tony. He hoped the finding of a cure was what the arrival of his mother signified. 

“Gentlemen, I believe we have found a solution to our Tony dearest’s problems.” Loki breathed yet another sigh of relief, and he physically felt some of the tension drain out of the room. “It’s a somewhat unconventional method and gifting it to mortals has in fact been forbidden before now. But I believe you will all find it an acceptable solution.

“But first I believe it may be wise to restabilise his magic. He may have somewhat spontaneously gained a commendable amount of control over his gifts these past few days, but the poor lad has so much life-force I fear he’ll never be able to completely calm it himself unaided. Loki my darling, would you be so kind as to retrieve the Uppspretta Styrks vambraces from your brother and get them buckled on to their owners forearms?”

He answered her with a smile and turned to the carved wooden box he’d only just noticed that Thor was carrying. Even as he carefully fastened the straps over Tony’s battered and bruised wrists, he could not help yet again wondering at the strange coincidence of the Vambraces colours. Both Tony’s and Loki’s favoured colours were present in abundance, as well as the blue-gold metallic sheen that was so reminiscent of Tony’s magic. The more he dwelled upon it, the more he suspected that The Norns had had a hand in their design and creation. They were not known as The Fates without reason after all. 

“Finished Sweetie? Lovely. Now, about this cure. I suggest you all listen closely.” His mother held up a small stoppered vial, half filled with a near-translucent golden liquid. Loki’s eyes widened. He knew it exactly what that liquid was and what it would do.

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Nicholas Fury was having an absolutely fucking awful day.

He seriously goddamn hated dealing with the fucking Fantastic Four and all their fucking bullshit. 

For all he complained about Stark, at least the man actually deserved to have an ego the size of Canada. Stark could act like an asshole, but once you sussed out his sense of humour, he wasn’t so bad really. And when he started to push at the limits of science and technology, Fury could be confident that whatever he came up with would actually work as intended. 

Reed Richards on the other hand, was the most arrogant, overconfident, unsociable, careless, totally fucking stupid bastard that he’d ever had the displeasure of working with. His goddamn imbecilic portal machines never fucking worked and any field tech that he donated to S.H.I.E.L.D had to be sent to Stark before being used just to make sure it wouldn’t accidently implode or anything. 

And if that dickwad Johnny Storm ‘accidently’ set fire to one more piece of New York’s architecture, he fucking swore that he would chop the little shit up and hand feed him to the pack of Skrulls still in the Helicarrier’s brig himself. 

Jesus fucking Christ, for the sake of his sanity, he needed the Avengers back on Earth. 

That Agent Coulson had arrived at the S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters’ Bifrost site alone wasn’t exactly reassuring. He had just been ferried up to the Helicarrier five minutes ago. He better have some goddamned good fucking news or Fury was going to lose his shit.

“Agent, you have a report?”

“I do sir.”

“And?”

“I suggest you read it sir.” Coulson offered up a set of neatly bound A4 sheets, which Fury eyed suspiciously before taking. He flipped the front cover over and scanned down the first page. By the third page he’s pretty sure that the vein in his forehead that he can feel throbbing is about to burst.

“Coulson. Are you seriously telling me that Stark is not just a Mage, but he’s so horrendously over powered that he can fly unarmoured and he destroyed half of Asgard’s throne room in a five minute skirmish without access to any tech?”

“Yes sir.”

“And that Captain Rogers very nearly murdered the God King of Asgard with his oversized Frisbee?”

“Yes sir.”

“….Loki’s participation in the Chitauri invasion was magical coerced and he’s innocent of all related charges?! Coulson, is it motherfucking April Fools’ day?!”

“No sir. It’s the middle of June sir.”

“There a psychopathic alien warlord named after the Greek daemon of death that has Asgard’s metaphorical knees trembling headed for Earth!? Is this entire report bullshit Agent!?”

“No sir, I wrote it personally sir. May I suggest you pay particular attention to the last paragraph on Stark? Top of page four sir.” 

Fury looked at page four. And then he launched the report clean across the helicarrier’s bridge and threw his hands up in the air, screaming in frustration and disbelief. 

“I quit!” he shouted out over the main control panels. “You all hear me? I am done riding this motherfucking crazy train and someone else can deal with all this magical bullshit. I have had it with superhumans and gods and I quit!”

There was a collection of blank looks from the Agents below. Coulson offered up a bland smile from next to him. 

“Just be glad I managed to stop Agent Barton from drinking any too.”

“I did not need to know that Coulson.”

“Of course sir. Coffee?”

He takes it back. The Fantastic Four never cause this much trouble

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

He wakes suddenly all at once. 

He remembers lying in a bloody puddle of agony and then…

Nothing. Until he wakes.

He knows something has changed immediately. Something more than the lack of pain and broken bones. Something… bigger. It’s an instinctive feeling that he can’t quite pin down. 

He cracks an eye open and finds a large collection of people peering down at him. They all look quite relieved, especially Steve. 

“Hey guys. Why all the long faces? What the fuck happened this time?” He’s pleased to find his voice actually sounds normal for once. It really wouldn’t have been fair for him to have scratchy coma-voice again; he’s suffered through more than his fair share of that recently. 

“Tony.”

“Yes dear?” He turns to look at Loki. The Mischief God has one eyebrow raised and amusement dances clearly in his eyes. He’s lost the blue and is back to his usual alabaster colouring, he notes. 

He suddenly realises what’s different. He immediately launches himself upright and gawps at the group of nutcases around him. 

“Holy fucking shit guys! You made me a God?!”

He pauses realising something else.

“I’m the God of Insanity and Intelligence?” It’s kind of creepy how he just seems to know that. “What the fuck!? I’m not _that_ crazy!” he practically screeches.

“It would seem that the universe believes otherwise Stark.” Loki overdramatically claps his hands over his face and falls to his knees. “Norns save us all, we’re doomed!”

“Shut it Loki. Fuck. I’m a God!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil Coulson:  
> On the one hand he's a cool, calm and collected super-agent who embodies efficiency and professionalism.  
> On the other hand he's "I watched you while you where sleeping, sign my fanboy cards O_o"
> 
> And I'm sorry Tony, but my friends already decided that I'm the God of Insanity, so you'll have to give me my epithet back. Don't worry, I'm sure the Norns do Trade-In deals!


	10. The Perks? Of Dressing Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4:27am  
> Housemate-Ian is playing Metal Gear Solid 2  
> BenBen is watching Morrowind install on his laptop  
> GM-Richard is passed out having finally just finished his Classics essay  
> I'm sat with my laptop posting this and eating plain lettuce because we finished all the chocolate and biscuits hours ago  
> All four of us are camped out in the living room wrapped up in our duvets, questioning our life choices.
> 
> And despite all this, no matter how long I spend staring at and altering this, it _still_ reads like a filler chapter...

“Clint, seriously stop it.”

“But it’s just so weird!”

“Clint-”

“Thor’s the God of Thunder and his eyes are like blue storms, crackling with lightening.”

“Clint!”

“And Frigga is the God of Marriage and Motherhood and hers are all warm and kind and loving.”

“I mean it Clint! Shut-”

“And well, we don’t need to mention Loki and his ever present mischievous gleam.”

“Oh my god, stop obsessing over everyone’s eyes birdbrain!”

“And then there’s you. You’re eyes are literally shining with insanity. Like, there are actual sparks of crazy flitting across them. If you went to see a psychiatrist they’d take one look at your eyes and institutionalise you.”

“So you’ve told me Barton. About fifty times! In the last hour alone!”

“But seriously, look at them!”

“I’m the God of Insanity now you friggin’ numb-nut. Frigga told you all about the physical traits that God’s have! Hell, you’ve been living with Thor for over three years, and Loki too for the past month, and have therefore had plenty of time to notice their godly eyes, so why on Earth is it surprising that mine have done a similar thing!?” Clint ignored him and continued talking over him.

“And what the hell is going on with your hair? It was always been a little wild and untameable, a little bit mad-scientist, but now it’s all…”

Tony groaned in frustration and let his head drop back against his pillow, tuning out Clint’s incessant rambling. When he’d woken the previous night and discovered his new godly status, physically he’d felt great. Sure, he’d been in complete shock emotionally, but as far as his body was concerned, he had never felt better. All his bruises and broken bones were gone, as was all the bleeding -both internal and external- and he’d been more than ready to jump up and go about his life as usual.

Frigga and Loki had soon disabused him of that notion. Steve and Pepper had made sure he did as he was told. 

He really did honestly feel fine but they insisted that his body still needed time to adjust to godhood and the accompanying physiological changes and so here was, eighteen hours later, still confined to bed rest. And to make sure he stayed put, they’d locked him in the room with Clint ‘ceaseless babbling’ Barton. 

He was this close to tearing his new godly hair out. 

Or maybe murdering Clint. That sounded like a fantastic idea.

\-------------------------------------------------

Around two hours later, Pepper came and rescued him. Thank gods. (Thank himself? Could he do that now?)

He wasn’t the most glad he’d ever been to see her, but it was a near thing. 

He still wasn’t allowed to get out of the small single bed that he was practically tied into, but at least she managed to get Barton to leave. Even lit by golden sunlight, pouring into to the room through the open doors of a balcony, the room already felt small and cloying without taking Clint and his sprawling in-your-face presence into consideration. The sudden silence that came with his departure was incredibly relieving. He rubbed a hand down over his face and smiled up at Pepper, trying to convey as much gratitude as he could. Pulling a heavy wooden chair closer to the bed, she smiled back warmly at him and ran a gentle hand through his hair. 

“Clint’s right you know, your hair really has gone completely insane. I doubt you’ll get it to lie flat ever again.”

“Oh Tesla above, not you too,” he mock huffed, unable to completely keep down his own small smile, “are you going to start waxing poetic about my glowing eyes and blinding grin as well?”

“I speak from many years of experience when I say your eyes always have gleamed like a madman’s.” He chuckled quietly at that. 

“Yeah well, we spent a lot of years in each other’s company. You were bound to notice that I’m a complete and utter nutcase at some point.”

“Nutcase is rather mild for some of the situations I’ve found you in,” she returned dryly, “Remember that time in St. Petersburg back in 2001 with the bicycle pump and the potatoes?”

“Oh gods Pepper, I thought we agreed to never speak of that again.” There weren’t many things that caused him to blush with embarrassment, but that was one of them. He pulled his arm up over his face and grumbled incoherently into the crook of his elbow. 

“Tell you what, I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll stop talking about it in exchange for you finishing and signing this paper work.”

Paperwork. Great. He peered sadly from behind his arm. Apparently, not even being on an entirely different planet is enough to free him from that particular horror. Dropping his hand back to the bed, he stares down at the forms he’s been handed blankly and wonders why every detail of his life seems to be staring back up at him. He sighs and affects a sulky pout, trying to turn the full force of his best puppy-dog eyes on Pepper. Unfortunately for him, she became immune to that move years ago and merely hands him a pen. 

“What even are these?” He asks, still confused.

“You’re altered citizenship papers,” she replies, pulling one set of sheets to the front, “These ones are your S.H.I.E.L.D and Avenger clearance forms,” moving another group forward, “these are for your driving license, this is for SI’s employee database and this last set are for your new passport information. You don’t strictly class as human anymore and even basic details such as your hair colour have changed.”

“My hair colour has changed? It looks the same old black to me?” He tugs a loose strand down in front of his face, almost going cross-eyed trying to inspect it, before going back to staring in horror at the number of identity forms he’s got to trawl through.

“It shines a dark electric blue when you turn into the light. It’s quite an interesting effect actually.”

“Interesting is the word people use when they can’t think of an actual nice word to use.”

“I save all my nice words for Happy these days Mr. Stark.” His smile takes on a sad edge at the reminder of their failed relationship, but he pushes the melancholy away, not wanting to upset Pepper’s obvious good mood.

“You should have stayed with me,” he continues eventually, trying for a joking tone, “then you could have told everyone you were dating a God,” he grinned at her suddenly, twirling the pen around his fingers, “a magical, genius billionaire God with the body to match.”

“That’s somewhat negated by the fact I’d also have to say that I was dating the God of Insanity.”

“Hey! I’m the God of intelligence too! Why does everyone keep ignoring that piece of information?”

“Because your ego is inflated enough already.”

“Love you too Pep,” he grumbled. She beamed sarcastically at him and patted the top of his head.

“Speaking of love, when are you going to man up and ask Loki out on a date?”

He stares at Pepper, mouth hanging open.

“What!?” he eventually manages to stutter

She rolls his eyes at him. Why does everyone keep thinking that! Have they all suddenly forgotten that the guy is technically still a supervillain? And even if he _did_ like Loki like that, the Chaos God certainly wouldn’t reciprocate the feeling.

Right?

Right?

He really needs to stop thinking about it. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Frigga sweeps into the small room just as Tony’s signing the last of the blasted forms. He’s inordinately pleased to see she’s carrying a neatly folded pile of what can only be clothes. 

He’s less so when he realises it’s all Æsir in style. 

Given that he’s wearing naught but a loose pair of black cotton pants, and has seen no other clothing all day, he resigns himself to the inevitability of looking like a dressed up peacock.

“Ah, I guess this means I can finally get out of this bed right? Because that would be awesome. Seriously, I’ve been stuck here all day. With Hawkass wittering in my ear constantly. I was _this_ close to blasting his ass with magic. And then Pepper came with paperwork. _Paperwork_ dammit. So getting up yeah?”

She smiles and deposits the clothing by his feet, sweeping round the bed to help Pepper organise the identity forms. 

“For a short while yes young man. Thor and I have finally negated the worst of the political upheaval and placated the most forward and verbal of the protesters, so tonight we shall hold a feast in celebration of a start of a new age for Asgard. The Avengers and the rest of you visiting Midgardians are of course invited and shall be given places of honour in the Grand Hall, seated with Thor, Loki and myself.”

“So we’re sitting with the royals?”

“Well you are a prince of Midgard.” Pepper snorted a laugh at that. 

“If only. He might have had the manners to match if that were true,” she teased.

“Hey! My manners are perfectly fine.”

“Yes dear, anything you say dear.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Now I have to get these forms back to Phil. Behave for Frigga.” Tony crossed his arms across his chest and mock pouted as Pepper made her way out of the room.

“I always behave!” He shouted at her retreating back. The only reply he received was another snort. “I do!” he said, turning to Frigga instead, “most of the time. Like, at least fifty percent of the time.”

“I’m sure dear,” Frigga smiled down at him, “now how about we get you dressed?” Tony frowned and swung his legs out of the bed, moving to stand next to Frigga. 

“Errrr, I’m sure I could manage by myself.” 

Even as he said it, he was doubting the truth of that statement. He’d been around both Thor and Loki for quite some time by this point, and while Loki seemed to favour altering his clothing with his seidr, Thor got dressed and undressed the old fashioned way; by tying and untying countless straps and buckles and laces. The Thunder God had an odd habit of half stripping in the communal lounge after Avenger-battles, so Tony had had plenty of opportunity to work out just how many toggles and the likes there actually were on the Áss’ clothing. And the pile that Frigga was now unfolding and organising looked even more complicated. 

“Are you sure sweetheart? Áss formal wear is a great deal more complex than practically all Midgardian clothing. Those unused to it find it often find it confusing to don.”

“Errrr, yes?” he said weakly, “I’ll be fine! Can’t be any harder than three-way variable simultaneous differential equations right? Just gotta find the common variables and compare and combine coefficients. Intergrate, substitute, and bam! One dressed Tony. Right?” He started down at the mass of leather, cotton, and wool spread out on the bed. “Yeah, ok maybe not. Which bit do I put on first?”

Frigga didn’t laugh at him, but he could tell from the mirth dancing in her eyes that it was a near thing. 

“Firstly, breeches.” She handed him a pair of high wasted black cotton shorts that would reach down just past his knees. He eyed them dubiously.

“Medieval Viking underwear. How is that you guys haven’t invented elastic yet? Actually remind me to talk to Pepper about that. We can start an interplanetary trade in all things practical, sensible or outright amazing that you guys lack. Elastic, movies, pizza, mobile phones, Velcro. The list goes on. Stark Industries would be happy to negotiate a deal.” Frigga actually looked thoughtful at that.

“Thor and I will happily take your offer into consideration. There is after all, no reason why we shouldn’t trade with Midgard now that your realm is becoming advanced in its own right. And your company is likely the best equipped to handle the logistics that come with inter-realm commerce.”

“Awesome. Pepper will be thrilled.” He paused, still fumbling with the breeches and looking from himself to Frigga and back. “Errr, sooooo, should I just… turn around? Or is there a bathroom around here somewhere? A walk in closet?”

“Tony dearest, who do you think changed you into your current sleepwear? It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t seen before.” Tony did not blush at that, because _Tony Goddamn Stark_ did not blush. But the back of his neck might have heated up a little. Maybe.

“R-right. I’ll just ummm..” Tony Goddamn Stark didn’t stutter either. Or flail around. Nope. 

Asimov be damned, he felt like a total fool.

Thankfully Frigga took pity on him and stepped out the room, closing the door softly behind him. She was even nice enough not to laugh at him on her way out. Much.

Tony scrambled into the pair of breeches as fast as could. 

After tying the laces and twisting the left knee back round straight, he stood and ran a hand through his hair, grumbling at the static-like sensation that he felt whenever he did that now. After that embarrassing debacle, he was half tempted to try and get the rest of the clothing on himself rather than let Frigga back in the room, but a cursory examination of one of the jacket things laid out convinced him that taking that path would only end in further embarrassment and him needing help anyway.

He sighed and called out to Frigga. 

Thankfully the rest of the clothing went on rather quickly. There were a pair of loose(ish…) black leather pants, with three burnished gold buckles down either leg, an also black thin cotton undershirt that fastened with four leather strips running diagonally across his chest and back, crossing just under his Arc Reactor, a heavier, black woollen shirt, embroidered with gold that tucked under the straps but sat over the undershirt (somehow? He wasn’t sure how Frigga managed that), a black sleeveless leather jacket that somewhat resembled a low-cut waistcoat, with accents of Arc Reactor blue and second equally sleeveless leather jacket that remained open at the front, with single thin green stripe running down one side, and a red down the other and more buckles than Tony had seen on any piece of clothing in his life. And that include that time he’d been coerced into going in that goth-and-rockers shop in LA. Again, most of the buckles looked to be made of gold, but several, particularly those across his chest, seemed to be made of a blue metal, similar in colour to the starkium twined around his vambraces. He poked at it several times, wondering what kind of metal it was. 

“It’s Gleipnir dear. Not an element you have on Midgard I believe.”

“Oh right, yeah I was wondering. I vaguely remember Loki or Thor mentioning it at some point.” She smiled at him and handed him a pair of matte black leather boots, a series of glossy straps wrapped around them and reaching up to just below his knees. Each of the straps had a razor-thin pattern of lines etched into them, in either green, red, gold or blue and when he looked more closely at his outer jacket, the straps here too had a similar decoration. 

With the last of the buckles fastened and the ties tied, and a series of belts strapped carefully around his waist and across his chest, he carefully rotated his shoulders and followed Frigga through the door into the next room. Dazed as he was, he had not paid a huge amount of attention when he had passed through here the previous night. Clint had told him they were in Frigga’s suite and the small room to which he’d been confined had originally been a small study, but he hadn’t really thought about what that meant until now. 

The room was as big as his open-plan penthouse in the Tower. Where they were currently stood resembled a living room, only with the couches centred around a fireplace instead of a TV, but further out a large table was also visible, as were several fully-stacked bookshelves, a large wooden loom, a small fountain and two metal spiral staircases, which reached up and away towards another level. Another two wooden doors were closed opposite from the one they had just entered from and every section of wall remaining was covered by either intricately detailed tapestries or by shelves filled with a random assortment of objects. One side of the room opened up onto a sizeable balcony, soft white drapes fluttering in the cool breeze, the fresh smell of greenery and nature rising from the multitude of plants and shrubberies wound around the balustrades. 

Tony barely did more than glance at it all though, his attention drawn to the large mirror standing in the opposite corner. He strode over and stared at his reflection. 

His eyes widened in shock. He twisted to look at his sides and back and marvelled at the way the bulky clothing somehow made him look both slim and muscular as well as any of his nigh-on priceless suits did back home. Yes, the outfit was mostly black, but there were hints of colour everywhere, matching both his two vambraces, which now rested on top of his sleeves, and his Arc Reactor, still shining blue through the two shirts. The way the material had been cut drew attention to the circle of light fused into his chest by Extremis, drawing one’s eyes from there upwards to his glittering eyes and wild untameable hair. 

Now that he could see his reflection, he knew exactly what Clint and Pepper had meant earlier. There was a certain light in his eyes -their usual chestnut brown now flecked with gold- that he didn’t know how to describe except as a ‘gleam of insanity’ and Pepper was right, there were dark blue ripples in his hair where the light cascaded over it. 

He looked younger too, which was slightly unnerving. The laughter lines creasing his brow and crinkling in the corners of his eyes were still visible, but softened, and the touches of grey that had been slowly creeping into his hair at his temples were gone. His skin looked brighter, less dulled by age and the slight smattering of salt and pepper than had been creeping in around the edges of his goatee had faded back into his usual black.

He suddenly realised that being a God probably meant that he was more or less immortal now. 

If the Æsir were anything to go by he’d still be alive and kicking more than five-thousand years from now.

And he’d been worried that he was coming up to fifty.

He was still staring dumbstruck at himself when Frigga stepped up behind his left shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror and she smiled softly at him.

“It is my understanding that the Lady Widow instructed you in the use of these.” She held up a set of seven knives, clearly designed for throwing. They were of varying lengths, the longest about seven inches, and the silver blades gleamed brightly in the warm light streaming in from the balcony. Their handles were wrapped with carefully cut strips of leather and, taking the one offered up to him, were perfectly balanced. 

“Yeah, Tasha showed me the basics. Never really got into the habit of carrying them around with me though. Was always more of a repulsor guy.” He flipped the blade up into the air, catching the crossguard lightly between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it round until the handle lay flat across his palm once more. 

“Well, you certainly seem competent enough with them. Regardless, it is considered bad manners in our culture to attend a royal celebration feast without a variety of weapons visible about your person. Lacking access to any of your own, Loki and I decided these would suit you best. I have a hand-and-a-half broadsword for you too, which Thor should arrive with soon and that will complete your ensemble.”

Even having known Thor for a number of years now, he still found himself surprised whenever someone reminded him how much of a warrior-culture Asgard was. Still, Thor and Loki did their best to follow Earth’s customs (with Loki having considerable more success than his elder brother), so Tony would too. Even if the only time he’d ever used a sword was during his pretentious boarding school’s fencing lessons. And even then he’d only ever done foil and epée. 

He told Frigga as much. 

“It’s only really for show anyway dear,” she told him, affectionately ruffling his hair, seemingly unconcerned by the crackling sound the action caused. 

He wondered at that, how tactile Frigga was becoming around him. Every time they met, she was openly displaying more and more motherly affection towards him. Or at least he assumed it was motherly, never having had a great deal of personal experience. He mentally shrugged, deciding that he didn’t actually mind all that much and extended his arms to allow the Queen to tie two of the knives to his lower arms. Two more clipped to one of the belts around his waist, and two were dropped into inbuilt sheathes on the inside of his boots. The final and seventh blade was wound skilfully with chord and dropped carefully down the back of his outer shirt. 

“Man of Iron! It gladdens my heart to see you once more upon your feet!” The suite door banged open and Thor barged in, his voice booming as usual. He was in his full regalia, armour, cloak, hammer and all, and his hair was twisted into a series of elaborate braids. 

“Good to see you too Fabio! You’re never going to stop with the ‘Man of Iron’ business are you? You nor your sneaky brother. Eh, whatever. I hear you have a big pointy knife for me?” 

Thor beamed and held out the elongated bundle of black cloth that had been tucked under his arm. 

“I do indeed brother Tony!”

Smiling himself, he stepped forward and relieved Thor of the package, pulled the covering off and felt his eyes widen as he looked down at the revealed sword.

The blade itself was fairly simple, wide and plain but functional in what he vaguely recognised as a classic Nordic style, but was longer than traditional, likely to match the added handle length. The handle itself was, like the throwing knives, wrapped carefully in soft leather strips, which were obviously utilitarian and not decorative. 

The pommel and crossguard though, were clearly another matter. Like the blade, they were both made good, strong folded steel, but inlays of what Tony now recognised as gleipnir, formed a series of runes across the guard, spelling out what his limited rune knowledge told him were spells of speed and agility and wards designed to protect the wielder. From what Loki had told him, imbedding a blade with the amount of seidr he could feel radiating from it was not an easy nor speedy process.

Despite this, it was the pommel that really caught his eye. It was rectangular and blocky like he had expected, and also inset with gleipnir runes, but set in the centre was a small clear gem that sparked and pulsed with a sharp blue light. He rotated the sword, pointing the blade downwards, and peered mesmerised into the stone. 

“T’is a storm gem brother. Loki informs me that he has told you of well-crystals during his teachings? This gem, if my understanding is correct, is similar in nature, but the stored energy seeps slowly into the surrounding metal, imbuing the blade with the power of storms. Much like myself and mighty Mjolnir! Is it not wondrous brother!”

Thor’s voice raised in volume more and more as he spoke, his enthusiasm overriding what little control he usually had. By the time he reached the end of his little speech, he was so loud Tony would usually have been clapping his hands over his ears, but was instead thanking his lucky stars that being a God apparently meant getting an eardrum upgrade. 

His lack of wincing however, did not stop Frigga from frowning disapprovingly at her eldest, and Thor ducked his head, looking sheepish, and mumbled a barely audible apology. Feeling awkward, Tony shuffled on the spot and ran the edge of the blade carefully over the pad of his thumb. As he suspected it would be, it was razor sharp and a single drop of blood welled up before Extremis flared the small cut shut. 

“T’is a good blade, is it not?” Thor grinned blindingly at him and clapped a hand down on his shoulder. Familiar with Thor’s friendly slaps, Tony braced himself and was then surprised when the force didn’t buckle his knees at all. Huh. Even post-Extremis, Thor’s affection had often left Tony stumbling. Yeah, he could definitely get used to this Godhood thing. 

“Come on boys, you must be departing soon if you are to arrive on time. Pass me your sword Tony love, and I’ll see that it’s fastened securely.” He did, pommel first, marvelling when she seemed to produce an unornamented black scabbard out of nowhere. 

“There,” she announced, stepping back round from behind him, “Now run along both of you. Loki will meet you there and I will be along shortly.”

“Come brother! I have long desired to introduce you to the joys of Æsir feasting!”

“Sure big guy,” he said, stepping out into the hallway, “I might even be able to keep up with you and Steve when it comes to the actual eating these days.”

“If what shield-brother Bruce predicted be true, then you may even hold your own against the mighty Volstagg! That would indeed be a sight to behold!”

“We’ll see big guy. But I have to ask, how come you’ve suddenly started dropping the ‘shield’ from the ‘brother’ with me? I didn’t think anything of it until you just used the longer version for Bruce just then.”

Thor frowned, his eyes taking on that sincere quality that Tony both adored and dreaded in equal measure. He even tilted his head sideways when he did it, like a particularly earnest Labrador puppy. 

“Because you are family now are you not? Not only were you made a God by my mother’s hand, but you share a bond with Loki. T’is obvious when you are near one another.”

“Oooookay? I guess I get the bit with your mom, but you do know Loki and I are not romantically involved right?”

Thor’s brows furrowed further.

“But shield-brother Hawk assured me that it was so, and the Captain and I could see no evidence to the contrary! Even mother agrees!”

Tony pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes and groaned. 

“I’m gonna kill Barton. With the splintered ends of his own arrows. And I’m gonna let Natasha help me.”

“So the Eye of Hawk was speaking a falsehood? But I sense your bond myself? Are you unaware of its presence?”

“….Bond?”

“Yes, between your life-forces. The green layer overlying your own seidr? Surely you have noticed it?”

“I thought that was just Loki suppressing my magic so that I didn’t crack the planet in two?” he replied, feeling slightly gobsmacked yet again.

“No, it is far more complex than that brother. Loki knows more about the phenomenon that I do, it would be wise to ask him after tonight. But for now, let us eat and make merry!” 

Tony’s head shot up from where he’d been staring at Thor’s boots, lost in his own thoughts, trying to process the idea that he might have some kind of magical-do-hickey bond with Loki, and they had indeed arrived at the feast. Before them, the doors to a large hall stood wide open and a stream of people dressed in what he gathered was Asgard’s equivalent of ‘Sunday best’, flowed through them. The welcome scent of roasting meat and good alcohol wafted out to greet them, and Tony’s stomach rumbled hungrily.

Thor laughed heartily at the sound and clapped him on the back again, guiding him forward towards the bustling crowds. A cheer went up as they passed through under the high doorframe and the crowd parted, creating a path right up to the head of the room, where one of the tables lay perpendicular to the others in the room. 

The Thunder God then threw an arm over Tony’s shoulders, and they ambled slowly through the room. Occasionally Thor would pause to grip someone’s forearm and mutter a few words (as much as you could call Thor’s rumbling voice ‘muttering’), but they reached the end table far sooner than Tony had thought they would.

Seated around it on low benches were Steve, Clint, Sif and the Warriors Three, and a handful of other Æsir that he had yet to meet. The two uniformed and armed Avengers bounced out of their seats as soon as Thor and Tony passed the last of the other tables, rushing over to bombard him with questions. 

“-Dude, what is with the clothing? Why do-”

“-Are you alright Tony? I wanted to-”

“-have a sword man? And what is that gem in-”

“stay but I needed to debrief with-”

“-the pommel? Are you like going full-”

“-Coulson and Fury wanted me to-”

“-Æsir? Jesus, I still can’t believe that you’re a-”

“-help Pepper gather up the necessary paperwork so I-”

“-God now. Fury totally flipped, shouted that he quit across-”

“Guys. Guys! GUYS!” Tony shouted over his two friends, trying not to laugh. “Seriously relax. I’m fine! And the clothes and gear came from Frigga. Seeing as none of you thought to bring me any of my own. And I get it Steve, it’s fine. Loki told me that you sat with him for the three days I was out, so one afternoon making sure Fury doesn’t get on our case is a perfectly acceptable excuse to leave me all on my lonesome.”

“Speaking of loverboy….”

“Oh I am so going telling on you to Natasha for that. I know exactly what you've been telling everyone.” 

Barton visibly paled. 

“Oh man you wouldn’t. We’re bros Tinman! Partners in snark! _The_ devious duo! Oh god, I will do your paperwork for a week if you don’t mention this to ‘Tasha!”

“Two weeks.”

“Ten days.”

“Eleven.”

“Deal.”

He clasped hands with the Archer while Steve looked on bemused; the super soldier had long ago learned to not question the antics of his teammates –especially if Romanoff was in anyway involved. 

“Where is Loki anyway Tony? I thought he’d be with you?” 

“No idea Steve. Frigga said he’d be meeting us here, but I haven’t seen him yet. Clint would you please stop poking at my sword! You can’t have it!”

“But, but!”

“Leave it Clint,” Steve told him, “I’m sure Thor will get you your own if you ask nicely.”

“Aw hella yes, that sounds awesome.”

Both Tony and Steve watched amused as Clint pranced away to where Thor was already piling a plate with strange looking meat and waving a flagon of mead around enthusiastically.

“Food?” Steve asked. Tony’s stomach rumbled again at the suggestion and he avidly agreed. Steve handed him a plate and they turned towards the table.

And there was Loki.

Gawping at him slack jawed.

Tony halted mid-step. He felt his cheeks heat as he watched Loki rake his eyes up and down over his body. By Einstein, the Mischief God was practically salivating and Tony really didn’t know how to deal with that. 

“Erm, hi Lokes? Enjoying the errr- party? Feast?” he ventured, waving an arm at his surroundings and shuffling nervously towards him. 

“Tony,” came the breathy reply, “You look-”

And then suddenly Loki was kissing him and his brain went completely offline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... that happened.
> 
> It took me a week to write that. an entire week.  
> I am so very glad that I have no Friday lectures. so very, very glad.  
> And I did proof read it(honest!), but probably not very well. Sowwee :(
> 
> Holla' if you have any questions!


	11. I’d Drink You Under the Table Any Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very aware that my updating schedule has been more than a little lax recently, largely because I had a massive literature report on Cretaceous Paleogeography to write. (And don't even get me started on the amount of research that took)
> 
> So to make up for it you're getting a second chapter this week!
> 
> Housemate-Ian spent a lot of his time shouting "NO! NO HORRIBLE STOKI!" at me while I was writing this. I made him buy me Frijj milkshake as an apology ;)

Loki was kissing him.

_Kissing him!_

Full on, opened mouthed, snogging his face off. 

Actually, it really wasn’t all that bad. Tony had never kissed a guy before but he was pretty sure he could happily get used to it.

Well ok, he’d chastely fumbled around with a few guys back in his experimenting MIT student days, but he’d been drunk and fifteen at the time and therefore it really didn’t count. 

Because it was _nothing_ like this. 

_This_ felt an awful lot like kissing Pepper had when he’d finally realised he’d been a quite a fair bit in love with her, had the same kind of hot and insistent passion laced through it, but this was ten times better. No, _a hundred times_ better. 

Now, don’t get him wrong. When he’d been with Pepper he really had been truly, madly in love with her, and their breakup had devastated him. _Completely_ and _utterly_ devastated him. But right now, he’d never been more glad that they hadn’t worked out in the end. 

Because if Loki stopped kissing him, he was pretty sure he would keel over and die from disappointment. 

His seidr certainly seemed to agree with the sentiment. 

With his Vambraces helping him to regulate it, his life-force these days was usually a calm plateau of restrained but immense power. A vast golden lake, with shimmers of vibrant blue skimming on and under the surface, quietly humming away, a lick of forest green hovering reassuringly at its edges. 

Right now the humming really wasn’t so quiet and the surface was vibrating and pulsing excitedly. 

Not to mention that the green and the gold were entwining and blending wherever they touched, little shocks of energy resonating out from the contact.

Lord of all, the mixture of sensations was _amazing._

If he did keel of over and die right now, he’d certainly die a happy man.

Of course, that’s when his brain finally decided to boot back up and helpfully remind him who exactly it was that was kissing him. 

Loki must have felt him tense because he suddenly froze up and started to pull away. Tony let him for a half a second, his mind going into panicked overdrive.

He was kissing _Loki. Loki_ was a guy. _Loki_ was a half-crazed supervillain who regularly topped S.H.I.E.L.Ds most wanted list. _Loki_ was _Loki._

Then he decided to screw all logic and sense and reeled him back in; his sexuality crisis could wait ‘till later – he had after all, spent the last few weeks unrestrainedly flirting with the guy- and when he allowed himself to admit it, he’d actually fully stopped thinking of Loki as a villain the moment he’d seen Coulson being decidedly not-dead back in the healing chambers. 

So he curled his arms around the Tricksters back, pulling him down against his chest, and tilted his head up to lick hotly across the seam of the older God’s lips. Loki made a desperate keening sound, a gust of warm moist air skittering across Tony’s own lips, and Tony felt hands running smoothly down the flat plane of his back, fingers delicately rippling across the edges of his jacket’s buckles and straps, curling underneath the tie-chords of his broadsword. He made a low gravely noise of his own, and his hand threaded upwards into the back of Loki’s hair, tilting -

“Well boys, took you long enough didn’t it?”

They sprang apart as if they’d both just been showered with hot coals, red faced and slightly panting. Glancing self-consciously around, Tony discovered everyone within 50 yards of the two of them was stood staring in complete silence. 

Frigga beamed smugly at them both from beside a decidedly embarrassed, but smiling Steve, while Thor stood behind them, grinning wide enough to more than match the delight shining from his eyes. Clint on the other hand didn’t seem to know whether to be overjoyed or nauseous and Sif, the Warriors and the other Æsir looked either confused, bemused or murderous, depending on at whom you looked and when.

“Well then, I’m glad we have yet another reason to celebrate,” Frigga continued eventually, clapping her hands together and still smiling. “Shall we be seated? I’m positive you are all famished and the kitchens have made a fabulous job of making sure there’s more than enough excellent food to go around.”

Still feeling slightly mortified, Tony gladly accepted the out that Frigga offered and hurriedly crossed the remaining distance to the table, dropping onto a bench opposite Sif and Fandral. Loki trailed behind him, still red faced but regaining his composure rapidly, and after a moment’s hesitation due to Sif glaring at him, slid onto the bench next to Tony.

“I did- I had- That- Tony-” Loki stuttered out, twisting towards Tony and keeping his voice low. “It was- It was not my intention to-”

Across the table, Sif audibly growled at them. Tony decided right then and there that he was perfectly fine with Loki kissing him, confused sexuality be damned, and that anyone disapproving of them could damn well keep their opinions to themselves. With that in mind, he made no effort to stop his voice carrying across the table.

“That’s a shame Bambi,” he grinned, twining his fingers through Loki’s, now wholly committed to being unashamed, “cuz’ I was kinda hoping we might go for another round later. Figure out just how the two of us tick.” He punctuated the statement by leering across the table at Sif, unrepentantly meeting her eyes. Thankfully, the female warrior balked, and snapped her gaze away, staring down into her tankard instead. 

Thor, grown far more perceptive in recent years, watched the exchange with a frown from where he’d slid in next to Fandral, and peered apologetically across the table at them. The prince then turned to look meaningfully at Sif, and then back to Tony, and Tony understood that he was promising to have words with her at a more appropriate moment; he nodded his thanks and Thor’s eyes flashed one final time before he turned to Fandral and struck up a conversation about Vanahiem’s upcoming Summer Solstice Hunt. 

Loki however, twitched once with surprise, and then visibly seemed to pull himself the rest of the way back together. Tony watched as the mischievous gleam in his eyes rekindled back to full blazing glory, and he leaned in against Tony’s side and dropped his head on his shoulder. Sif’s glowering intensified. 

Before he could make another pointed comment, Steve appeared from behind him and clambered in next to him. He must have witnessed his and Sif’s square-off because Tony could hear him chuckling quietly. Usually Steve was tolerant, but not exactly approving of Tony’s sharp tongue and tendency to insult everyone around him. Fortunately for Tony in this instance, there was very little love lost between Cap and Sif; on the two occasions that she and the Warriors had come to The Tower to visit Thor, the two had nearly come to blows. Over what, Tony still had no idea, but Steve was adamant that Sif was one of the most unpleasant and intolerable people he’d ever met. And Steve was, well, _Steve_ , so she must have actually done or said _something_ serious to not only earn his ire, but also lack his forgiveness. Tony hadn’t been inclined to be particularly chummy with her himself after spending two days with her, and so was perfectly happy to side with his best friend on principle alone. 

Either way, this was obviously one of those rare occasions when Steve would actually egg him on, and encourage him to unleash his tongue and let his displeasure be known.

It was times like this that Tony realised he had the best friend ever. To show his appreciation, he raised his hand and offered up a fist bump. Steve smirked and met it before shoving a plate full of food under his nose. 

Tony instantly forgot all about Sif and almost physically drooled at the amazing smells suddenly wafting directly up into his nose. His metabolism had become ridiculously efficient post-Extremis -even more so than Thor and Steve’s- and he suspected that becoming a God had only compounded the problem. Combine that with the fact that he technically hadn’t eaten since before Odin had crashed the charity Gala and he was positively ravenous.

He didn’t recognise any of the meats piled on the plate (was that _green bacon?!_ ), nor any of the vegetables besides what were obviously carrots, but right now he really didn’t care. It was hot, smelled good, edible and tasted great. He was half tempted to give up using his fork and just shovel it into his mouth with his bare hands, but Steve and Clint were both watching him with a kind of sickened fascination, so he didn’t think that would go down particularly well. 

He all but inhaled the contents of his plate, and when he found it disappointing empty barely minutes later, Thor grinned and pushed a second heaped plate at him. He devoured that with as much gusto as the first, knocked back a flagon of mead that Clint dropped in front him and started on a third. 

“Is it wise for mortals to be drinking our mead Thor?” Fandral asked hesitantly, “Last we were upon Midgard you told us that it was as poison to them.”

“Worry not shield-brother, brother Tony has a constitution to rival our own! I wager that he could drink any of you under the table!” Tony saw a mischievous expression flicker across Thor’s face that he was more used to seeing Loki wear and suddenly found himself wondering if his ‘Man of Iron’ and other names thing wasn’t the only prank the Thunder God partook in. And what exactly he was playing at now? 

Sif snorted into her drink at Thor’s challenge, and looked at him with an expression of pure incredulity. 

“Have the Harpies have picked at your brains Thor? You would honestly wager that a mere Midgardian could stand any hope of winning a drinking competition? Against not just an Áss, but a _God?_ ”

Now it was Tony’s turn to look incredulous.

_Has no one told her that I’m a God myself now?! Does anyone in this hall besides Thor, Frigga and the Avengers know? How can they not tell just by looking at me?!_

As if in answer to his silent questions, Loki placed down his fork, turned and whispered into his ear.

_“Nobody knows your new status. Frigga’s been holding a glamour over you since you left her suite. We didn’t want to drop too many revolutionary concepts on the dimwits head’s in one go; their heads are nearly exploding as is it.”_

Tony frowned and tentatively stretched his metaphysical fingers out. Now that he was actually looking, he could indeed sense a thin veneer of warm copper seidr hovering only millimetres above his skin. 

He quirked an eyebrow at Loki and received a sharp, daring grin in response. Tony suddenly realised what Thor was trying to get him to do.

“You wonna’ bet Xena?” he challenged, pulling out his best condescending smirk. “I’d make you and Prince Charming look like lightweights easily. Hell, I’ll take on Volstagg too. I’ll even swear on all you deem holy not to use any magic. Gotta’ make it an actual challenge after all. ” 

From down the table Frigga raised a questioning eyebrow, but her lips were quirking slightly and next to him, Steve’s face had gone carefully blank, so both had clearly caught onto the ruse. Steve’s lack of frowning and scolding indicated that he’d decided to go along with it and Clint too, must have realised that Tony had the upper hand, if the facts that his eyebrows were wiggling up and down and he was grinning like an unhinged manic were anything to go by. 

Sif and Fandral however, had absolutely no idea what Extremis was and what it could do and had obviously assumed that Tony and Thor were bluffing. The two Warriors exchanged a disbelieving glance, as if they couldn’t believe their good luck, and enthusiastically called Volstagg and Hogun over. 

Loki sniggered quietly into Tony’s collar, and Tony silently prayed to whoever might be listening that Pepper, Coulson and Fury never, ever, heard about this. 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Loki was having a very, _very_ strange day. 

He’d spent the morning out on Alfhiem, bringing the Elves up to speed with the latest court changes on Asgard. Thor had offered to go, but Loki had pointed out he had always gotten on with the Elves far better than he and that Thor was better off helping mother with the Vanir, and against all expectations, gotten no objections. 

One of Frigga’s first acts as Asgard’s regent had been to issue an Yggdrasil-wide pardon for both Loki and Tony. While he had already been doubting it would hold much weight on Midgard, as independent a realm as it was, and he knew that a lot of the Æsir were sceptical at best, unknowingly to him, the rest of the nine that were on good terms with Asgard had apparently accepted it without question. Thus, when he had arrived on Alfhiem not long after dawn, he had unexpectedly received no trouble and managed to conclude his business swiftly and efficiently. 

Upon his return to Asgard, just after the midday noon, he had planned on returning to Tony’s bedside in his mother’s suite in order to keep the engineer entertained and stop him from causing havoc out of boredom.

He’d only gotten half way there however, when Thor had appeared from a side corridor, bearing a note from his mother. And so he had found himself journeying out to the royal smithy instead, with instructions to help in the completion of a specially commissioned set of weaponry.

The throwing knives had been simple enough, simply requiring seidr-activation of the single runes carved carefully into each of their handles, before being wrapped in soft leather. But the sword (clearly destined to be the possession of a high noble or a prince given its hand-and-a-half handle) had required a little more effort. There were dozens of runes, formed from ( _excessively rare_ ) Gleipnir of all things, each one designed to support and enhance the others, that required energy pouring into them slowly and meticulously. 

There had also been a storm gem that needed inlaying and fusing. 

_A storm gem._

There were only five that Loki knew of in existence. Three he knew to be in his mother’s possession, and the fourth was famously embedded in Mjolnir in order to augment Thor’s own natural power.

For a second he had considered that this then must be the fifth, taken or bought from The Collector, but then it dawned on him. No, this one was from his mother’s own collection which meant that this sword was undoubtedly for _Tony._

By Yggdrasil, his mother was making the mad Midgardian an Æsir Prince’s Broadsword. And embellishing it with representations of Loki’s accepted family.

No wonder it was covered in Gleipnir; it was Loki’s favourite magecraft metal. That meant that the runes themselves were likely representative of his mother and the gem obviously stood for Thor.

Shaking off his amazement, he’d then spent most of the remaining afternoon ensuring that the blade was finished to the highest possible quality. Just as he’d been finishing up and wondering how to charge the gem, Thor had appeared. His brother was annoyingly curious about the crafting of the blade, asking dozens of inane and obvious questions, but he did at least provide the solution to his charging problem. Turns out Thunder Gods are useful for something after all. 

Leaving Thor to finish up, he’d then grabbed the knife set and headed back to the Palace, hoping to deliver them to Tony himself. He was fairly confident that they were indeed for Tony, given that he’d been discussing such weaponry, and Tony’s familiarity with them, with his mother just before he had left this morning. 

Unfortunately he’d only gotten half way there again when he’d been sent off on yet another errand, this time by his mother herself. 

Grumbling, he’d stomped his way down to the Hall of Records, sealed scroll in hand. He’d debated opening it with magic to discover its contents, but his mother had probably expected him to do that and planned against it. While he could have scanned it and undone her tricks and traps, he’d already been pretty sure it was just a record of Tony’s Godhood anyway, and so he’d decided to just get it delivered and be on his way, rather than expending energy and effort on confirming his suspicions. 

Having handed it over and escaped the lecturing tones of the High Circle members, he’d then had no choice but to go directly to his own chambers and hurriedly prepare for the night’s celebratory feast. Grumbling some more, he’d quickly altered his armour and clothing and hauled out his best set of throwing knives from behind the false wall next to his wardrobe, smoothed his hair back flat, debated whether or not to take his own Prince’s Broadsword and ending up just collapsing his golden staff and binding it to his left thigh, and strode straight back out the door again. 

Thankfully, the feast had only just been beginning as he’d entered the hall and so he hadn’t been late enough to be considered disrespectful. Weaving through the crowd at the edge of the room, he’d managed to make it to the head table more or less unnoticed, and he’d been planning on sliding onto an unobtrusive end of a bench to wait for Tony quietly and out of the way. 

Had been because when he’d pushed through the last of the crowd, he’d found the Midgardian already present. 

Present and dressed like _that_. 

He’d known damn well that his mother had done it deliberately, fully aware that she was pulling strings and playing matchmaker, but that hadn’t stopped the wave of desire crashing through him, as Tony would have put it, _like an out of control freight train._

Of course the insane inventor had to go and make it a hundred times worse by babbling in that unthinking, barely understandable, _completely adorable_ manner he often did when he was either over excited or nervous and trying to hide it.

Before Loki had known what he was doing, he’d been kissing the nutcase into silence.

 _In front of everyone._

And once Tony had started kissing back and making that knee-weakening growling noise, and their life forces had been resonating and practically singing their praises to Valhalla and back, he really hadn’t cared that the whole hall was probably staring at them in shocked silence. 

(and oh Norns, a full seidr-bond had _definitely_ formed)

Then his mother had to go and ruin the moment. Despite the whole situation being her fault in the first place. Figures really.

And then he’d found himself sat with Tony, _his_ Tony, discovering that his sentiments really were returned, and that, yes he could snuggle up to him if wanted too. Watching as Sif was knocked from her high horse and witnessing an even greater feat of food-devouring than even Volstagg was capable of was all just a bonus really. 

And just to add to surreal-ness of the whole situation, he’d had an entirely silent conversation with Thor, communicating with their eyes and minute facial expressions. With _Thor._ The Thor that, only a few weekd ago, he’d been steadfastly refusing to acknowledge having any familial relation to, and was now somehow back to calling ‘brother’. 

(And when had that happened? First Tony and now Thor. He’d be forgiving Fury next at this rate.)

And to really cap it off, the silent conversation had been about working together to prank Sif and the Warriors Three. 

Which is how he now found himself watching a drinking competition. A competition that had been going on for a little over three hours now. A competition being judged by his mother and three members of the Royal Council. A competition that a good three hundred or more nobles, lords and ladies were crowded around and cheering enthusiastically at. 

A competition that Tony was, hands down, winning. 

Granted Tony had Extremis burning through all the alcohol in his system faster than one could snap one’s fingers, but the other four competitors were getting close to passing out now and Tony was still holding a perfectly understandable and un-slurred conversation with Steve about geometry and mental arithmetic. While absent-mindedly spinning one of his throwing knives around his left hand and occasionally flipping it up into the air. And using his other hand to toss peas at the Hawk. 

Needless to say, the crowd were amazed and more than a little impressed.

Thor caught his eyes and shuffled quietly over. 

“Split the winnings?” he muttered quietly into Loki’s ear. 

“Three ways with Tony.”

“We have an accord brother.”

Loki grinned and went back to leaning against Tony’s side. 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Part of Bruce had wanted to go to Asgard with the others. 

This part of him liked to dream all about seeing all the other worlds out there, about the advanced science and technology that Asgard possessed, about all the advancements he could bring back to Earth and use to improve the lives of the people here. 

This part also liked to point out that Tony Stark was one of the best friends that Bruce had ever had. And that the reason everyone had gone to Asgard was because said best friend had been in a whole lot of trouble. Trouble that Bruce could have helped rescue him from if he had gone with the others. 

A bigger part of him was glad he hadn’t gone though. 

This was the part that either had an awkward agreement or an outright hostile relationship with the other guy, depending on a wealth of factors that Bruce often didn’t understand. 

For the most part these days, they stuck to The Awkward Agreement. This involved neither being too fond of the other, but accepting that working with and listening to each other was best for both them and agreeing to use each other’s actual names. This meant that Bruce wouldn’t forcibly repress the Hulk and would, for the most part, listen to and consider his opinions and let him out when he wanted out. On the other side of the equation, the Hulk would accept that often Bruce was the best option of the two of them to handle a situation, and that it made both their lives easier if he let Bruce do most of the walking round and talking. 

They’d also agreed not to shove each other completely out when they took over control of their body. So, Bruce now spent Avengers battles watching from behind the Hulk’s eyes, doing his best to guide and advise the Hulk and desperately trying to explain what Cap and the team’s more complicated orders meant. Similarly, when Bruce was out doing his thing, the Hulk would sit in the back of his mind and keep up a running commentary on whatever Bruce happened to be doing. The commentary very rarely made any sense, but Bruce tolerated it, even enjoyed it on some days. 

So, most of the time, they had a rough, but manageable coexistence. 

Then there were the days when they just didn’t get along at all. 

They spent those days clawing at each other’s metaphorical throats, demanding to know what the other thought he was playing at.

One such of these days occurred the evening that Tony and Loki had been taken by Odin from the charity gala. When they’d seen the footage that all the news channels were running of the event on TV that night, they had at first been in agreement; the Hulk was demanding to be let out so that he could ‘smash the Puny Eye-Patch God’, and Bruce had been inclined to let him.

Of course Bruce had then had to patiently explain that they had to wait, as Odin had whisked off to another planet out of reach. Which is when things started to go downhill. 

The Hulk, for some unexplainable reason, really did not want to go to Asgard, no matter how much Bruce begged and cajoled him. They’d fought about it, with Bruce screaming that Tony needed them, and Hulk roaring back that Shiny Metal Man was very good at looking after himself and would always come back to Hulk and Bruce because he was amazing and he had promised he would.

After a lot of mental struggle, Bruce had finally conceded that putting the Hulk through the Bifrost when he was this riled up with the epitome of a bad idea. And so he had found himself agreeing to stay on Earth and help Natasha liaise with the X-Men and the Fantastic Four. The Hulk was happy with that decision and they’d gone back to their uneasy alliance.

Bruce was self-aware enough to admit that it had all probably worked out for the best in the end.

Currently, Hulk was dancing around in the back of his mind with happy abandon because Bruce had just read Coulson’s report and thus had it confirmed that Tony was now fine. And also discovered that he was now the God of Insanity and Intelligence. Hulk was particularly pleased about that last part because he thought Shiny Metal Man was the best and he took ‘he’s a God’ to mean ‘all the other puny people will now worship the ground he walks on too’. 

Bruce shook his head and couldn’t help smiling at the Hulk’s childlike logic process.

“I imagine the Director was less than impressed with this turn of events?” Bruce asked Coulson, who had brought him a paper copy of the report. 

(Hulk grumbled in the background, angry at Pirate Boss for lying about Agent Man’s death. Hulk did not care much for Agent Man himself, but Shiny Metal Man did, and Shiny Metal Man’s opinions mattered)

“He took it as well as could be expected.” Bruce could tell that that was Coulson’s way of admitting that Fury had completely flipped out. 

“When are they all coming back to Earth?” he asked, instead of inquiring about Fury further. (Hulk chittered excitedly. He wanted Shiny Metal Man and Starry Wing Head to come home)

“A few days from now at least. Stark was unconscious again when I left, and Frigga informed us that he will need at least twenty-four hours enforced bed rest to recuperate from the physiological changes before anything else can be done.”

Bruce snorted. (Hulk roared with laughter)

“Yeah, good luck keeping him in bed. I’ve tried it myself far too many times unsuccessfully to not know how futile that’s going to be.”

“Loki promised me he’d magically tie the stubborn bastard to the bed if necessary.”

Bruce considered that, weighing up the possibility that Tony would find a way to escape his confines anyway. (Hulk approved. Green Puny God was good at stopping Shiny Metal Man hurting himself)

“No actually, that could work.” Bruce pulled his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lord knows Steve and I have tried everything else.”

Coulson smiled knowingly.

“Well I have to be getting a move on. I came here to the Tower because I need to collect this paperwork and get it back to Miss Potts back on Asgard.”

“Ah, the dreaded paperwork. If you expect Tony to do any of that, you really will have to get Loki to tie him to the bed. Give everyone my best.” (Hulk growled.) “Give everyone _our_ best.”

Coulson smiled quietly one last time before reclaiming his report and striding back out of Bruce’s lab. 

Bruce turned back to the test tubes he’d been preparing before Coulson had appeared.

(Hulk started asking about the fizzy-bubbling that happened when you heated water up. Shiny Metal Man called it boiling, but _why was it called that Bruce?_ )

\-------------------------------------------------

Fury was shouting at him down the phone.

Coulson had popped in again the next day to tell him that Tony was now up and about and was going to attend some feast or another tonight, and that the paperwork was done and would Bruce please scan this set for Pepper and add it to the SI database when he’s got a bit of spare time please? 

He had agreed, and several hours later he and J.A.R.V.I.S had been doing that, musing to one-another what all these appearance changes that they could see listed would actually look like, when Bruce’s cell had started ringing. 

J.A.R.V.I.S had answered it for him and now Fury was throwing an apocalypse-worthy hissy fit at him. 

Something about three spaceships hovering in the outer atmosphere demanding they surrender the Earth. 

Something else about telling the Hulk to get over himself and to get their ass to Asgard and bring back the other Avengers. 

_“Right goddamn now Banner, or so help me, I will drag you there myself. Everyone else is busy dealing with this clusterfuck, so fucking well get a move on.”_

Bruce gulped and started frantically begging the Hulk to _please just this once, agree to a trip on the Bifrost!_

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

With Extremis keeping him stone cold sober, Tony, as predicted, had won the drinking competition with very little effort. 

Sif was now out-cold, as was Fandral, and Hogun and Volstagg were well on their way to joining them. The other Æsir were in awe. A _very_ large money pouch was handed over to Thor, who was now grinning like the cat who caught the canary, and Barton had scooted over to him to help with counting it all up. 

On a whim, Steve had joined in the competition, and was now mildly tipsy and happily regaling Frigga and some guy called Baldur with the story of the giant jellyfish monsters and their mental unstable creator, Captain Creature. Tony liked that story because Thor had spent most of the battle singing a jovial rendition of Disney’s ‘under the sea’, while Barton inserted amusing comments at opportune moments over the coms. From the frequency of their laughter and enraptured expressions, Frigga and Baldur seemed to enjoying it too.

On Tony’s other side, Loki had dozed off and was breathing softly into the crook of Tony’s neck. Tony was still really confused over what was going on with him and Loki, especially as he’d never been any more than only a little Bi-Curious before. But he’d decided to deal with his confused feelings at a later date and just enjoy the moment for now.

Other than their little group at the table, most of the hall was empty now, the rest of the feasters having slowly drifted off in search of their beds. Tony was considering wending his way too, having eaten and drunk more than his own weight at least three times over. First though, he had to decide whether or not to wake Loki up, where to go, and whether or not to take Loki with him.

Thankfully, Frigga noticed his dilemma, and came round the table to lend a hand. She explained that the mischief god had spent most of the day either travelling and doing politics, or down at the smithy helping with some seidr-enhanced weaponry. Tony thought about the broadsword still strapped to his back, recalled again the effort required to infuse seidr into metal, and worked out for himself why Loki was so exhausted. 

Deciding therefore, to leave the Chaos God asleep, he began carefully turning him so that could lift and carry him without disturbing him. Frigga instructed Thor to lead the two of them to Loki’s chambers, and with a final wolf-whistle from Clint, they were striding across the hall towards the doors. 

Their progress was somewhat impeded by the arrival of a dozen Einherjer, surrounding a very agitated looking, _green eyed_ , Bruce. 

“Shield Brother? How is it that you came to be here?”

“Thor! Tony!” Bruce gasped, stumbling out from the centre of his escort, “Thank God! Fury sent me. There’s a bunch of spaceships matching the description Tony gave after the Battle of New York hovering above the Earth. They’re only small, but they’re making demands about surrendering the Earth to some guy called Thanos.”

Thor swore a blue streak. Loki jerked awake in Tony’s arms. 

“Fury was working on stalling them when I left, but the alien who seems to be in charge, who’s calling himself The Other, was getting impatient and so now there’s a bunch of heavily armoured, only vaguely humanoid creatures causing havoc in Times Square.”

Thor turned and ran back up towards the head table, bellowing out orders. 

In Tony’s arms, Loki shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes, End Notes, what to put in the End Notes.....
> 
> You may have noticed that I've reclassified Hand-and-a-half swords from 'bastard swords' to 'Prince's Swords'. I blame hand-wavy Asgard Vs Earth cultural differences. (Read: It seemed like a good idea at the time)  
> I find Bruce a very hard POV to write from, so I hope he and the Hulk came across okay. And are in character. 
> 
> If anyone wants to point out gaping plot points, then please do! I keep scouring through the previous chapters looking for them, but if I've missed any...
> 
> And I will pass on all messages you want to leave for Housemate-Ian and his FrostIron abuse ;)


	12. All Hail Tony, Duchess of York!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all!  
> I bring you this new chapter from the strange and exotic land known as University holiday time!
> 
> I am really very terribly awfully sorry about the ridiculous wait you've had since I last posted.  
> My life kinda exploded into a painful blur of sunburn-infested, month long Uni field trips and 2nd year finals exams (there were seven. All in _two weeks_ D': )  
>  I shall try to improve drastically upon that. If not, you have my permission to come find and lynch me, or whatever you deem appropriate.
> 
> Editing for this is minimal at time of posting because it's sort of late here in not-so-sunny England.  
> So i'll be back tomorrow to sort out stuff like making the dividing lines centred and correcting any glaring spelling and grammar mistakes
> 
> EDIT: I think all the italics are fixed now!
> 
> Enjoy peoples :D

Loki’s brain was stuck on loop.

_There will be no realm…_

Oh Norns, _he_ was coming.

_No barren moon…_

_He_ was coming for him.

_No crevice where he cannot find you…._

_He_ was coming for him and Tony and Thor and his mother and everyone he’d ever loved or called friend.

_You think you know pain?..._

_He_ was coming and he was going to lose himself. He was going to lose Tony.

_He will make you long for something as sweet as pain…_

Loki’s thoughts swirled, the ragged edges of remembered pain spiking through his limbs, burning in his muscles, screaming through his nerve endings. He trembled with it, his mind screaming along with the fear. Everything he had fought for, everything he had suffered for, he was going to lose it all. 

_He was going to lose Tony._

No barren moon? No crevice?

_He was going to lose Tony._

Did he know pain? Would he long for it?

_He was going to lose Tony._

Could there be anything more painful than losing that which he had only just discovered? That which could become so many great things? That which held more potential for sheer joy than the rest of the Nine combined?

_He was going to lose Tony._

_He was going to…._

NO! 

The singular word shot through his mind and broke the cycle.

He would _not_ lose Tony.

Not even over his dead body.

Loki would not allow it.

Tony was his. 

_Thanos_ would not get him.

Not even if he had to rend the Universe asunder to ensure it.

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

Asgard was in chaos.

Tony assumed from the speed that Thor’s orders were being achieved that it was in fact organised chaos, but it sure didn’t look it.

Gods, there were people running everywhere.

Streams of them, pouring into and back out of the hall. Einherjer mixed freely with armoured Æsir nobles, purposeful looking men and women in soft cream togas weaving carefully through them, while young boys and girls darted around and between legs, their own arms laden with gear and supplies of a hundred different varieties. It was like a well-orchestrated dance the way they all moved together, a thousand individual gears working in tandem to form a single mesmerisingly efficient machine.

Tony stood dazed in the centre of it all.

In his arms, Loki still trembled. 

Unsure what else to do, Tony dropped carefully to his knees and shifted the Mischief God so that he was cradled carefully against his chest. Desperately trying to recall how Bruce handled it when it was Tony himself panicking, he started softly muttering off reassurances and listing off items from their surroundings. For a second he debated whether or not he should put Loki down altogether, half remembering something about physical contact being over stimulating. Then again, Bruce had often gone against that in the past and had it all work out fine. So did he or didn’t he?

Christ, he really wished Bruce hadn’t disappeared off with Frigga; the Doctor was so much better at dealing with this than Tony was. 

He choked back a strangled laugh, all too aware of the irony that was his lack of confidence with this. After all, he’d been on the other side of this equation more times than he cared to recall. He knew exactly how it felt to become trapped in your own mind, ensnared by visions and horrors of what once was and what could be.

Then Loki convulsed once in his arms.

A look of what Tony could only describe as pure rage slammed down onto his face.

And then the Chaos God launched himself up and out of his arms with such speed that Tony was sent sprawling backwards against the cold stone of the floor.

“Loki? Loki!”

By the time Tony had struggled back to his feet the other God was gone, lost amongst the swirling crowd.

“Ah just flipping great, now what do I do?” Tony huffed out in exasperation, still pivoting wildly on the spot, hoping futilely that he’d somehow spot Loki despite the constant shifting of the hundreds of people surrounding him. He sighed again. “The godly upgrade just couldn’t come with a few extra inches of height could it?” 

“Nah, you’re still a shrimpy short-ass Shellhead.”

“Feathers! You’re attentively alliterative asinine insults are well timed as always!” Barton smirked at the retort as he pushed through the last of the throng to Tony’s side. “Now where the hell did everybody go? You all just ran off after Thor and left me all on my lonesome with Loki-dokes. Who has now also scarpered. And that, Mr. legless lego Legolas, is very much not cool!”

Instead of answering, Clint’s smirk grew wider and the archer reached out and grasped Tony’s forearm, pulling him firmly towards the back of the hall. 

Within five steps, he discovered another perk of becoming a God; vastly improved reflexes. 

Very much essential when there’s a stack of axes suddenly plummeting towards your head. 

The young man who had been carrying them could not have been more than twelve if he had been human. What that transferred into in Æsir years, well Tony and J.A.R.V.I.S were still working on that complicated bit of maths. Less than 115 his rough guesstimate informed him

The look of sheer panic on his face when the weaponry in his arms clattered down where Tony had been standing only seconds before made him look even younger.

And it really was only a few seconds. Tony felt wind whistle past his right ear as he twisted inhumanly fast and ducked to the left, dragging a startled Clint with him and landing in another graceless heap on the floor with the Agent sprawled heavily over him. 

“Well, I guess we can add Speedy Gonzales to your list of nicknames Stark. Sounds better than Nearly Headless Nick at any rate,” the archer grinned down at him, jamming his damned-pointy elbows into Tony’s collar bones. Then, in a considerably louder voice he added “If anybody else wants to take a shot at offing Stark, please form an orderly queue and a representative shall see you shortly! We thank you for your patience in this matter and endeavour to satisfy our customers to their fullest expectations!”

A semi-strangled gasp of laughter escaped Tony before he roughly pushed his joker of a teammate off his chest and made to stand again.

“You’re an ass Barton. What Natashalie sees in you, I’ll never understand.” He made a show of brushing imaginary dust off his knees and checking the top buckles on his boots before he reached down a hand to haul Clint back to his feet.

“Naw Starky, you love me really!”

“You do my share of dishwasher loading for three days and then we’ll see.”

“You already owe me two rounds of popcorn duty Loony-Tunes, and a crazy golf rematch! And what about the paperwork deal we made earlier!?”

“Eh, tomato tomahto. There’s only so many flavours of exchange available.”

Clint’s brow furrowed and his right hand rose up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck. He opened his mouth, paused, closed it again. Stared at Tony some more. Tony raised one eyebrow.

“Nope. Just nope. Still got nothing,” Clint answered eventually, “What the hell kind of answer was that!? That didn’t even border on making sense!”

Tony waved a hand flippantly.

“God of Intelligence and Insanity here. Sense is no longer a requirement Bird-brains.”

They stared at each in silence for a few seconds longer before they both broke down in hysterics. 

“Oh, oh god,” Tony gasped between peals of laughter, “Manhattan’s being invaded by aliens and Loki flipped out and ran away and we nearly just experienced death by accidental axe and, Tesla be damned, the-the Universe must be one great big cosmic joke because I’m a sodding god! Me! A God! And-and I might be dating the Prince of an alien planet who’s at the top of Fury’s ‘evil-douche of the year’ chart for the third year running, and-and how is this my life Clint? How!?”

Clint responded by hunching over and breaking down into further giggles, clutching desperately at his abdomen. 

“My-My Prince?”

The young man with(out) the axes was still staring wide-eyed at the pair of giggling Avengers, panic still dancing in the edges of his eyes and in the wobble of his voice. Tony, desperately gulping in breath and trying to calm himself down, looked over his shoulder expecting to see Thor behind him. And then back at the boy when only more Einherjer and squires were there. 

The worried expression remained on the boy’s face as he met Tony’s eyes.

“Are you Ok my Prince? I apologise most profusely for carelessly crossing your path my Prince. It was an accident and I shall endeavour to watch where I step with more attentiveness in the future.”

Tony look over his other shoulder as the boy stammered out his apology. Thor or Loki must be around somewhere. Or perhaps there was another Æsir prince that Thor had not mentioned or introduced him to yet? Or-

Oh wait yeah, Prince of Midgard.

He’d completely forgotten about that piece of ludicrousness. 

“Ah it’s fine kid. Not like you could have done me any harm anyway. I’m mostly blade proof these days.” To demonstrate, he flipped one of his throwing blades out of his boot and dragged it across his palm, grinning at the way the boy’s eyes lit up with curiosity when Extremis sealed the cut over.

“Speak for yourself Arthur Brown!” Clint playfully knocked his elbow against Tony’s shoulder.

“Ah, so Clint here may have died a little bit. Oh well, even if he had died, he’d have survived.”

“So the Lord is kin to the Dakyr?”

The confusion clear in the boy’s voice was mirrored in Tony’s and Clint’s faces. 

“Yeah, no idea what they are kiddo.”

“Höðr, my Prince.”

“Yup, still not following.”

“Erm sorry sir. I meant that I am named Höðr, youngest son of Baldur, who is youngest brother to the late King Odin my Prince. As to your inquiry, the Dakyr are the half-life inhabitants of the realm of Nifflehiem, where Hel rules over the dead. I assumed from your comments that the Lord archer is kin to them in some manner?”

“Half-life inhabitants from Hel? You think Barton is a half dead- You think Clint’s a Zombie! Oh man, that one’s gonna go down in the history books! Witness the amazing Hawkeyeless, now even more brain dead! Zombie-Clint is coming for you and wants you’re brains due to lack of his own!”

Clint looked decidedly unimpressed with Tony’s shambling zombie impression, but refrained from rolling his eyes more than the once.

“Yes yes Stark, very funny. Give over and come find Steve with me already. Alien invasion of Earth remember?” Tony sighed, the reminder sobering his mood fast.

Grimacing, he tossed a quick sloppy salute in Höðr’s shocked direction and followed Clint back into the still-thrumming crowd.

\-------------------------------------------------

In a surprisingly short time, Tony found himself passing under the city gate at the end of the Bifrost with the other Avengers and the Warriors Three and joining an increasingly large group of armed men. 

Tony turned and gawped.

Rainbow bridge indeed! Understatement of the century!

He could feel himself practically salivating at the prospect of studying the materials and mechanics that formed it. No wonder Foster was so obsessed with Einstein-Rossen bridges!

He was going to have a lot of research projects lined up once he got home.

Which is where he would be headed as soon as these idiots stopped trying to get him on a horse!

It’s not that he can’t ride a horse. Pretentious boarding school remember? But being capable of doing something doesn’t mean you ever want to do that thing. As far as Tony’s concerned, horses became obsolete the minute the first motor engine was invented. Why would anybody want to willingly put their lives into the hands of a non-sentient vicious beast? The old saying “bites at one end, kicks at the other” came from somewhere, and Tony has an old bite scar on his thigh as proof of its factualness. 

Nope, Sif and Fandral can take their taunting and sneering back to the healing room where they left their magically cured hangovers and shove it. 

He is _not_ getting on a horse. 

Nope. 

“Please Tony, we don’t have time to wait for you to walk and catch up!”

“Steve. Steve. Horses are evil incarnate! My small-but-intelligent-self learned that lesson well at the tender age of nine. I was in the hospital for three days! Jarvis had to smuggle me pudding!”

“Tony! _Please!_ We have to go!”

He was not getting on the damn horse. Not even if he had to-

“I’ll fly Steve! I can totally just fly along behind you guys!”

Steve looked both patient and exasperated, a look Tony knew to be patented worldwide by parents. It certainly made Tony feel like a misbehaving three-year old. 

“You don’t have one of your suits Tony. So how’re you going to manage that? I’m not sure your magic is stable enough yet to do it yourself.”

“My magic is totally stable! I’m all vambraced up and I’ve got all this extra godly stability going for me now. And Frigga’s just over there! In the unlikely event that anything untoward happens, Thor’s awesome mom can save my handsome ass!”

“I’d really rather you just got on the horse Tony.”

“Steeeeeeeveyyyy pleeeeeease!”

“Tony!”

The puppy eyes may be ineffectual with Pepper, but Steve had only had three years to build up tolerance; he was nowhere near Pepper’s level of immunity yet. The longer Tony held the pout, the more Steve’s defences crumbled. And he could see Steve admitting defeat any second now…

But before he could make use of his hard-won victory, Tony found himself hauled off his feet by the back of his sword belts and deposited in a saddle with an arm wrapped securely around his chest.

(On the extremely slim chance that he did indeed yelp Barton, it was a very manful yelp and you have no proof otherwise. None!)

“He can ride with me Captain. I’ll ensure his doesn’t cry at his fate overly much.”

“Yggdrasil Loki! Where in the nine realms did you go! No wait, no using your strange cursing patterns! And put me down!”

Considering the last time Tony had seen him Loki had been a trembling mass of terror and then a trembling mass of rage, he was looking astoundedly calm and collected now. He was in full battle regalia, minus the strange helmet and plus a very familiar looking weapon.

“You have a sword like mine! And so does Thor for that matter! What’s that about? And I really meant it when I said put me down! No no Loki! Don’t start the horse moving, let me off! Steve help!”

Loki blithely ignored him and urged the black stallion into a moderate canter. Steve merely winked and mounted his own horse beside Clint and Bruce. Bastards.

“Loki! I really hate horses Loki!”

“Oh hush dear, you’re perfectly safe.”

As the group began to spread out and break into a gallop, Tony was finding himself less and less inclined to agree with that statement. And with Loki handling the reins, he had nothing to cling onto for dear life. He satisfied himself with cutting off the blood circulation in the arm Loki had thrown across his chest and gritting his teeth so hard, he feared something may crack. 

“Tony dearest, please relax. I’m not going to let you fall and you’re so tense, the pommel of your sword is jabbing me repeatedly in the shoulder. It is most uncomfortable.”

“I. Hate. Horses!” he growled between still clenched teeth. 

“Well that much is unbelievably obvious, but we’re nearly there.”

“No we’re not you liar!” _Yeah, we’re barely an eighth of the way over the damned bridge. I’m not blind!_

_Oh so you do at least have your eyes open then?_

Tony nearly jumped out of the saddle in shock. 

_Holy Fuck Loki! Are you in my head!?_

_In a manner of speaking. It will not work over any distance, but the seidr bond allows us this much._

Right. Seidr bond. Ah Norns, life was so much simpler this time last year. All he’d had to worry about then was being the most intelligent man on Earth and owning a multinational company while having a part time job as a comic-book superhero where he had to dodge and defeat magic and madmen on a bi-weekly basis with a bunch of other superheroes that he also lived with in a giant self-designed tower. 

Much, much simplier really.

And agh! Goddammit! He needed to stop cursing in Old Norse! Damn Loki and his rubbing off on him!

_Oh, so you don’t want me to rub off on you then?_

And didn’t that send Tony’s mind spiralling off into lewd and very much inappropriate thoughts?

_Goddammit Loki!_

_Well, It’s distracting you from the riding at least, my prince._ Yeah, not anymore it’s not, not now you’ve mentioned it again.

 _Not a Prince!_ He grumbles back instead. 

_As my official partner and God by my mother’s hand, you’re officially a Prince Consort of Asgard. Thus, very much a prince._

_What!? That’s not how it works! Happy and I looked all this up while he was stuck in hospital after the Extremis debacle! He’s totally obsessed with that English nobility show, Downton what’s-its name? Abbey! Downton Abbey! Anyway yeah, he and I looked up how British Royalty titles are given trying to understand which Duke was supposed to be which and the like. And let me tell you, to be a Prince Consort, you have to marry a Queen! Which you, to the best of my knowledge are not. Well, you have your moments but- Ouch yes ok, shutting up!_

He’d forgotten for a moment, that his back was pressed up Loki’s chest and that therefore he was mostly definitely within pinching range. 

_Carrying on! So, who you’re actually like is Prince Andrew, the second son of the current monarch. And he’s the- ah what was he? The Duke of? The Duke of York! So even if we were married, which we most definitely are_ not, _then I still wouldn’t be a Prince Regent!_

_No, you’d be the Duchess of York._

_What!? No!_

_As interesting as all that was, it’s doesn’t actually apply to us anyway as neither of us are English, Duchess Tony._

_I’m not a Duchess!_

_Yes dear._ Even Loki’s smirk transferred well over the bond. 

He was thankfully saved from further mental embarrassment by the timely arrival at the Bifrost dome. He hoped the others mistook his reddened face for nothing more than mild wind burn from the riding. 

Past experience told him he was probably having no such luck.

He was saved from contemplating it further by Thor’s bellowed order to form up. The Einherjer spread out in rows on the bridge behind them immediately snapped to attention, a cacophonous clatter echoing out over the city and falls as thousands of golden spears clash once against breast plates.

In the silence that followed, you could have heard a pin drop. It was quite the impressive display.

“Heimdall! If you would!” 

The tall dark god standing atop the steps in the centre of the dome nodded the once at Thor before turning and dropping the tip of his oversized sword into the raised block he was stood behind. From the corner of his eye, Tony saw Clint and Bruce flinch and turn their gazes away as a blazing streak of lightening shot upwards from the sword’s base and arched outwards over their heads. Below their feet a deep rumbling started, gears grinding and turning as the blue bolts snaked down over them. The outside of the great bronze room clacked and boomed as it rotated about itself, the entrance closing and hiding the city, bridge and guards from view. 

Thor’s thunderous laughter filled the space even over the crackle of electricity and churning of the mechanics.

“My friends!” he boomed, “Comrades, Brothers, Kin! Tonight we defend that which we all hold most dear! For we shall never allow the Destroyer of Worlds and Courter of Death to take our freedom! Tonight we shall emerge victorious for tomorrow we shall feast, be it in this plane of existence or in the mighty halls of Valhalla!”

“Victory and Valahalla!” shouted the Æsir in synchronous reply. Thor’s grin grew wider.

“Shield-Brother Rogers!”

“Thor!”

“I find myself compelled to quote that which I once witnessed with Brother Tony! Captain America, you have the Conn!”

Tony chuckled even as Bruce and Clint groaned beside him.

“No more Star Trek for the Space Vikings, ok Tony?” Steve smirked across at him, the dome spinning faster and faster about them, “You wonna join me in doing the honours First Officer Stark?”

Tony grinned through the building white light surrounding them. They called out together, heard even over the ever increasing rumble of the building Bifrost. 

“AVENGERS! ASSEMBLE!”

Hulk’s roar and Clint’s mad cackle followed them as they shot across the universe as little more than a stream of multi-coloured energy. 

\-------------------------------------------------

The group landed at the top of 7th Avenue, burning a large rune-circle into the edge of Central Park. 

The only words that could be used to describe the state of their surroundings were ‘complete chaos’.

The people of New York -particularly those who spent any length of time on the Isle of Manhattan- were more than used to dealing with supervillain attacks. There was a well-established alert system, clearly marked evacuation routes and guidance, and the NYPD ran fortnightly drills alongside other training exercises to ensure that the streets were cleared of civilians as quickly and efficiently as possible, meaning that it was often only reckless tourists and morons who were left in the line of fire. 

From the unnervingly large number of bodies littering the streets, the evacuation obviously hadn’t been swift enough this time round; the sheer amount of death and destruction was already rivalled only the worst of Doom’s spats and the original Manhattan invasion led by Loki. 

An explosion echoed dully in the distance, snapping everyone’s attention away from the devastation immediately before them. Tony took a deep breath and accepted the Com-Earpiece that Clint silently handed him, sliding it into place and turning to assist Loki with his.

As expected, Fury was already cussing up a storm over the open channel, cursing everything from their mothers to the state of economics in Latveria and everything inbetween. Steve and his legendary patience bore it all with a silent grimace for a good forty seconds before he fell smoothly into Captain mode and cut across the Director. 

“Hawkeye, take Hulk and rendezvous with Widow and the Fantastic Four by the Rockefeller entrance on 5th. Then get up and be our eyes on high. Hulk, go with Hawkeye! Understand Hulk? Good Hulk! Thor, take Sif and find out how the perimeter’s holding up; most of the X-men are out of town so there’s only a small handful working it. Fandral, get the Einherjer and the other Æsir down to Times Square where the most intense fighting is. Just follow this street down till you met the S.H.I.E.L.D barricade. Hogun, Volstagg, you stay here and send the next groups through the Bifrost on after Fandral, then work with Coulson to cover any hot spots. Stark, Loki, get to the Tower. You and J.A.R.V.I.S need to get your satellites and Stark Orbital in position to do something about those alien space ships. Fury stop spluttering and get the Helicarrier over to the Empire State building; we need the carrier’s arsenal so I’m coming to you. Ok move it people!”

Sharp nods and grunts of acceptance (and further spluttering and cursing) sound at Cap’s orders, and groups of people immediately start to peel away. Hulk scoops Hawkeye up and stands him on his shoulders, charging off with barely a grunt. Thor and Sif sweep off the ground in a swirl of dust and vibrant red cloaks, while the Warrior’s Three immediately turn and order the Einherjer into blocks of ten and set them off running down 7th Avenue, golden armour clanking with every step. 

Tony twists to grin at Loki and bounces on his feet, kicking a bit of gold-burst seidr down through his boots to propel himself a little higher than natural with every jump. The energy flowing through him seems to shimmer and pulse, twining through his core almost as if it’s rejoicing in the freedom its currently being allowed. Extremis roars to a low blaze alongside it, and Tony can feel his core temperature rising, suspects that at the very least his eyes -and possibly his skin too- have begun to glow an amber orange. Blue and gold crackles in short bursts over his vambraces and the glephnir buckles on his jacket start to glow a muted blue to match the Arc Reactor shining through his shirts. 

When his eyes meet Loki’s and see the wonder there, Tony suddenly feels absolutely alive in a way he hasn’t felt for years. 

Alive. And very much like a God. 

“Really Tony, must you be so enthusiastic?” Loki asks dryly, his usual sarcastic smirk quickly fixing onto to his features to hide the amazement of the moment before, “One might think you actually enjoy fights and explosions with the way you’re capering around.”

“Oh and of course, you derive absolutely no pleasure from it either,” Tony cheerfully snarked back, allowing Loki his emotional mask. “One would never presume such a thing of you. After all, you would never even encourage _others_ to commit mischief, let alone actively create chaos _yourself_ purely for your own pleasure.”

Loki dramatically clapped a hand over his heart, allowing his mouth to fall open and his eyes to widen in fake surprise.

“My goodness my Prince, how could anyone ever think such a thing of me!”

“I decry a deception most foul, for no-one would ever stoop to such things Bambi! Now do try to keep up!”

Loki cackled even as Tony dropped his feet back onto solid ground and took off sprinting eastward down 59th street towards the intersection with Park Avenue. Pouring a drop of magic into each step had him bounding off at a pace that would have easily outstripped even Steve. 

“Stark you imbecile!” Loki hollered -still laughing- after him from where he was still standing next to the Bifrost site, “I can teleport us straight there, you nitwit!”

Oh yeah, that- that was a good point. 

“Who you calling a nitwit, spoilsport! I just wanted to err, go for a bit of a run ya know! Get the adrenaline and blood pumping. Um. Work up to the fight a little bit,” he hastily called back, skidding to a halt and feeling a little embarrassed. Even from this distance, his Extremis and Godhood enhanced eyes allowed him a clear view of Loki’s own eyes rolling. A second later, Loki was materialising beside him, the same exasperated but amused look still gracing his features. 

“Eloquent as always in your reasoning dear. Do try and use that overpowered brain of yours a little more in the future, rather than running with the first whimsical idea that crosses it. T’would save you a great deal of discomfiture in the long run love.” 

Loki punctured that statement by knocking twice on his forehead and then linked their arms together. 

“Ok, we gonna skip there like schoolyard girls instead then? And you know, you never did tell me the significance of the matching broadswords that you and Thor and I-”

“Brace yourself Tony.”

That’s all the warning he gets before he discovers that teleporting is a very strange thing to experience. 

Really, very seriously strange. 

The comparison that comes to mind is that of a meat grinder used to make sausages. It’s that kind of squeeze; tight, compressing and completely shredding. It feels as if his very essence has been rent into a thousand million pieces, pulled violently apart into his fundamental particles and then forced down a tube narrower than the radius of an electron, before being forcibly rearranged back into a Tony-shaped mess. And all this occurs within barely an instant; a thousandth of a second, a single flutter of a bee’s wings, a single byte of informational transfer down a first-grade fibre optic cable.

It’s highly unpleasant to say the least. 

It’s probably not surprising then that Tony’s first experience of teleportation ends with him panting on his hands and knees, desperately trying not to throw up. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god. Never, never ever, ever, ever do that to me again! That was awful. That was _beyond_ awful! No wonder Thor insists on taking the Bifrost rather than hitchhiking with you. I think the only time I’ve felt worse was on that rooftop with Doom. Hey J.A.R.V.I.S, Jay buddy, could you make a note to remind me never to travel by teleportation, like ever. J.A.R.V.I.S? Hey Jay, you there? Jay….?”

Only silence greeted Tony.

Worried, he looked up.

There was a tall hooded and cloaked man standing silently in his penthouse.

He was turned with his back towards them, facing outwards and gazing out through the window Tony had once been thrown through by the very god at his side. Beyond them, smoke rose in plumes from the city, sirens screeching, concrete groaning, explosions shattering. The man tilted his head to the side as another boom resounded hollowly in the distance, ear dropping towards his shoulder, the hood of his stiff black leather cloak creaking with the movement. 

A blue, cracked hand with two thumbs sweeps out sideways and an echoing, maniacal cackle fills the room. 

Loki lets out a single long, _agonising_ hiss and Tony’s heart leaps into his throat.

“You thought you could escape _little god?_ You thought you could escape the wrath of our master for your failure and betrayal?” The voice of the man -the _alien_ \- is deeper than expected, formed of many different depths and layers, each more sinister than the last. It grates against Tony, sets his teeth on edge and his hackles to rising. Slowly, Tony pushes back the nausea and carefully stands, flicking one of his throwing blades quietly into his hand. 

“There is nowhere to hide _little god_. There never was. He will find you wherever you run. He will _always_ find you.”

Beside him, Loki begins to quiver in rage, a tremor of fear coating it and felt by Tony only through the bond. 

“And he shall make you watch _little god_ , as he burns this realm to the ground and scatters its ashes upon the path of destruction that ends long beyond Asgard. And you shall watch as he takes your brother and mother and twists them until they know nothing but fear and pain and the will of our master. And he shall take your Man of Iron and twist him so far into madness that the merest hint of your name will only shatter him further, until he screams your name because agony is all that is left to him. And you?” 

The alien jerked around to face them, a malicious sneer covering what little of his disfigured face remained visible around the metal and leather mask covering it.

“And you will wish he had only kept his promise and left you longing for something as sweet as pain!”

Tony stared at the creature before him. Watched as the sneer on its face sharpened into a vile grin, exposing its blood soaked, misshapen teeth. Listened to its threats and promises with clenched fists and deep, hot anger pulsing in his veins. 

“Yeah, no thanks Blue and Evil. I think we’ll pass.”

Then all hell broke loose.

Tony followed up his false-casually spoken statement with a thrown blade, aimed squarely for the alien’s covered eyes. The tearing of fabric could be heard as the knife tore raggedly through the being’s hood, followed by a dull thunk as it slide neatly into the glass window behind up to the hilt. The creature seemed to distort slightly before his eyes and then a great blackened scythe was hurtling towards Tony’s neck, the edge snapping like the tip of a bullwhip as it passes mach-1. 

But Tony was already moving again, arching to the side and drawing his broadsword from behind him in the same fluid movement, twisting around Loki as the other god launched himself forward. The blades clashed in a fountain of searing sparks and Tony naturally fell into a fencer’s pose, darting back as the scythe swung once again towards him.

Loki drew his own hand-and-a-half blade from his back and flowed into a series of forms that seemed to make Loki move as if he were liquid grace. Tony raised his free hand and blasted a stream of seidr at the being’s exposed back, sending him stumbling towards Loki. Loki span down and carved a long gash up the creature’s leg and abdomen, causing it to screech and flail wildly, it’s limbs cavorting about uncontrollably. 

But then its right arm smashed solidly into Loki’s chest and sent him hurtling backwards over the bar. Its attention turned back to Tony, and he swallowed a lump of fear as it slid as a blur towards him. 

It avoided Tony’s next blast of magic with ease and brought down the scythe once more towards his head. Tony jumped back, pushing down at the floor with his magic and out at the creature with a wave of Extremis heat. He flipped over increasing the distance between the two of them and curled into an acrobatic cork-spiral, twisting down to brace himself against the juncture between wall and floor. 

The being hissed as its skin cracked further under the intense heat, but did not hesitate to spur forward once again towards Tony.

Tony coiled down, surreptitiously transferring his weight to his left leg, hoping that his next planned move wasn’t actually as stupid and risky as he suspected it was. The alien drew closer and closer, ignoring the way its robes smoked and smouldered. Tony held his position. Held it, waiting. Waiting…  
As soon as the next swing of the scythe began to fall, he sprang forward in a guarded la flèche. 

His blade and pierced the creature’s chest right where its heart should have been, and it screamed out its agony as lightning arched down the sword blade from the gem set in its pommel. Tony grinned in grim satisfaction and twisted the blade in further, prompting further torment to screech from the being’s throat.

He didn’t see the creature’s right hand curve round towards his exposed left side until the tip of the dagger was already sliding between his ribs. 

Thor’s hammer smashed into the alien and the knife tore raggedly out of Tony’s side, blood splashing like a gushing red fountain across the floor and window as he fell hard to his knees. 

The edges of the world began to darken.

Somewhere sounding increasingly distant, two brothers roared out their rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, major appologies for dissapearing for so long. I was in Spain with Uni, and then doing exams and then I was in France with Uni for a month and yeah, France is a lot bigger than the UK and I recommend avoiding driving all the way across it because it's big. (all you Americans and Canadians and other-such-large-country-inhabitants can feel free to point at their countries and then at France and back on a map now and raise an eyebrow at me...)
> 
> I am a member of a fencing club, but lets be honest, I'm terrible at it :P I mainly fence foil and occasionally wave a saber around, but neither style is exactly suitable for use with a Viking Broadsword. Poor Tony is just doing his best lol.  
> A [Video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRLCd13-geU) explaining a La Flèche. Basically it's a lunge where you spring forward with a jump and your arm extended. Not good for much except a last ditch move, as it leaves you horribly open to counter attacks.... 
> 
> Also, the Other really does have [two thumbs](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelcinematicuniverse/images/6/68/TheAvengers-1205.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20140728181244). I only noticed a few hours ago O_o
> 
> You can blame my mum for the [Arthur Brown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOErZuzZpS8) reference. She thought it would be amusing. I kinda agree!  
> [Blue and Evil](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3ULN9fRXRo) was just something I can see Tony turning into a nickname.
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoyed and i'll try to be more punctual with the updates!


	13. RUN [PROJECT_ORBITAL]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. long time no post *hides from my reader's wrath*
> 
> all I'm gonna say here is that I appologise in advance to mobile users, who might have some issues with the formatting of the Jarvis section.

Thor chuckled grimly as he finally felt the battle thrill begin to sing within him. He and Sif were standing atop the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel, red cloaks flapping loosely behind them in the slight breeze. Below them, black-clad S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents sheltered from the concussive blasts and lasers bombarding around them, ducking behind the scarred and burning remains of wheeled Midgardian transport devices and blocks of fallen rubble.

Both he and Sif had fought and slain many of the grotesque burnt orange lizard-like creatures that were swarming Manhattan before reaching this place; it was yet another group of these alien beings that had the unfortunate men below them pinned down. 

Sif grinned manically, having long since found her own battle-thrill, and launched herself feet first down into the fray below. Smiling at her enthusiasm, Thor raised his hammer and jumped after the Shield Maiden, laying out nearly half a score of the repulsive beings with one single lightening-enhanced swipe. 

He turned and Mjolnir toppled another half-dozen, Sif bounding after them to ensure none regained their feet. They crouched and rolled together as one of the creatures turned its weapon upon them, a sickly yellow arc of energy searing above their heads. 

He laughed whole heartedly as he finally began to lose himself to the joy of a good fight; until this point, he’d been too concerned by the surrounding destruction of his home away from home to really get into the swing of things. Bounding upwards again, he pulled his broadsword from its sheath with his right hand even as Mjolnir shot back into his left.

“Duel wielding Thor?” Sif cackled as she spun her own blade across the throats of two more beings and pivoted to skewer another, “I seem to recall a certain Prince declaring that requiring more than one weapon was cowardly and deceitful!”

Thor grinned back as he rolled smoothly over the back of another foe, “Brother Tony and the Lady Darcy have both assured me most ardently that duel wielding is in fact badass.” He paused, his blade echoing the shudders of the creature’s chest it was buried in and cocked his head and widened his eyes in what Friend Clint called his innocent puppy dog expression. “There were philosoraptors and a Neil deGrasse Tyson! It was a most educational experience.”

As Thor was hoping, Sif looked completely baffled and the topic of cowardice was swiftly forgotten. Everyone always seemed to forget that Thor had grown up with the God of Mischief as his brother and had had more than ample time to be influenced by him. He often shamelessly took advantage of the fact. 

Sif shook her head and hamstringed the last of the lizard-beings, quirking an eyebrow when one of the S.H.I.E.L.D agents darted forward and emptied the rest of the ammo from his miniature projectile weapon into its skull. The lizard creature spasmed violently. The agent shrugged.

“It was still twitching,” he told her, deadpan. 

“You’re all insane. All of you. Blasted Midgardians,” she muttered back.

The agent shrugged again and patted her consolingly on her shoulder, before he and the other young men turned and began to jog away, heading back towards the heart of Manhattan

Laughing uproariously at the exchange and Sif’s facial expression, Thor began twirling Mjolnir once more, preparing to launch back into the air. Sif stepped closer and gripped his pauldrons.

They shuddered and halted their movements when the remnants of a distant wave of seidr washed over their skin. It held the same overwhelmingly powerful, but frighteningly uncontrolled edge that all of Brother Tony’s fumbling attempts at magic were tinged with when he was close to panicking. Thor felt his face go slack with fear. 

“Go! Thor! Go now!” Sif shouted as she stepped back from him and turned to sprint away instead. 

Thor didn’t argue.

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

 

The black began to recede from the edges of his vision and Tony found himself on his hands and knees, one arm wrapped tightly around his midsection, hand and forearm pressed against the burning edges of the ragged hole in his left side, and his sword lying forgotten in front of him.

Extremis flared hotter and the jagged gash hissed and spat another spurt of steaming hot blood between his fingers and across the floor as the torn flesh surrounding it started to pull itself closed. A lick of blue-shocked gold swept over the surface as Extremis recedes back into its usual muted battle-ready glow, smoothing the last of the pale white scarring back into clean unblemished skin. 

Across the open floor of the penthouse, Loki and Thor were pulverising the bloody remains of the alien with their swords, almost taking it in turn to deliver blow after deadly blow, growling and cursing all the while.

“Uh guys!” Tony called out as he hauled himself back to his feet, right hand closing around the leather grip of his discarded blade, “I think he’s dead now!”

The two gods continue to hack away at the mangled body, completely oblivious to both Tony and their surroundings.

“Guys!” he yelled louder, “seriously, he’s dead and I’m fine! Loki! Thor! Goddammit guys! Hello, over here!” Rolling his eyes and sighing loudly, he waved his hands over his head for extra emphasis, the blue-stained blade of his sword gleaming dully in the light and crackling sharply with left over static.

Loki finally paused and looked up. 

When their eyes met, Tony physically witnessed as the rage clouding his features froze and drained away, to be replaced by shock and relief. 

Then, when Loki glanced back down at the body still impaled on Thor’s broadsword, the shock too was swept away and replaced by mild embarrassment. 

Tony raised an eyebrow and allowed his hands to drop back down to his sides.

“Really very dead Loki. Majorly, mutilated corpse levels of dead.”

“Yes. Well.” Loki responded dryly, trying to recover some composure, “One can never be too sure with creatures like The Other.”

“I’m pretty sure you and Thor made sure, love. Dead sure.”

Loki’s only response to that terrible pun was to scowl and nudge ‘The Other’ (Tony assumed from Loki’s vocal inflection that that was the vile creature’s name) (and now he thinks about it, Bruce said something about an ‘Other’ too on Asgard) with the toe of his boot. Thor, at least, had the good grace to continue looking sheepish despite Tony’s joking.

After several long seconds of amused silence had passed, Thor -clearly becoming more and more uncomfortable the longer Tony and Loki held eye contact- cleared his throat overly loudly and pulled his blade out of The Other’s throat with a quiet ‘shlick’. 

“I presume you are less injured than you appeared upon my arrival brother Tony. You seemed in great distress and yet you now stand before us seemingly whole. I ask that you forgive mine and my brother’s reaction to your plight, as I see now that it could somewhat be classified as a minor overreaction.”

Loki paused in the cleaning of his own sword, a look of indignation crossing his face before crying out: “It was hardly an overreaction Thor!” 

“Brother! Do you not see the devastation we have wrought upon The Other’s being!?”

“It was not an overreaction!”

“His limbs lie separated from his chest, which itself resembles no more than a mere hollow cavity!”

“HE STABBED TONY! HE HAD IT COMING!”

Thor hesitated. 

“I concede your point brother. Perhaps we ought to separate his body further. Do you wish to remove his head or should I do so?”

Tony allowed his head to drop into his hands, sword pommel hooked by his thumb and held between his palm and cheek, and chuckled miserably.

“I hate siblings!” he moaned dramatically 

“Shut up brother!” both Loki and Thor called back together, grinning at each other

\-------------------------------------------------

Fortunately for the few remaining shreds of Tony’s sanity, an explosion denoted with alarming proximity to the building causing it to shudder and groan, before Thor and Loki could finish discussing who was going to get to dismember what. 

Reminded of why they were actually there, Tony immediately raced to the nearest terminal access point and began the process to reboot J.A.R.V.I.S. 

“Hey Jay, you there?” Tony asked after a few more fast screen swipes, glancing worriedly at the nearest camera. 

“Affirmative sir, I aim to be ever ready at your service. Shall I begin a diagnostic? I detect some anomalies within the system.”

“Have at it J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“The cameras from floors twelve through twenty-two are all disconnected sir, all elevators are currently out of service, and the canteen on floor six is reporting several small fires. All other building processes seem to be running smoothly under the standard evacuation procedures sir.”

“Alright, we can work with that. How are the external connections looking?”

“Communication with S.H.I.E.L.D and their city wide camera access is being restored as we speak sir, and both NASA and the DOD and its associates have just recommenced their attempts to connect video calls.”

“Right then!” Tony paused his hurried typing to spin back to face the two brothers with a clap, “Thor! Be a dear and jump on down to the office levels would you. I don’t think the lack of visuals is anything to be too concerned about, but better safe than sorry. See about the kitchen fires too while you’re down there would you?” 

“Certainly brother! I shall take on this task with great relish!” With that bellowed announcement, Thor launched himself out of the shattered window with a loud bang, Mjolnir wizzing after him with a deep metallic thrum. Tony chuckled at the empty space where the Thunder God had stood moments before, thankful yet again for his godly eardrum upgrades.

“Lokes babes,” he continued, shaking off his wistfulness, “could you and Jay update Cap? Tell him I’m working on our spaceship problem and make sure he and the other guys on the ground are holding up ok? Try and avoid talking to Fury if you can help it. Oh! And see if you can hold of Hawkass; there’s three more fully loaded quivers sitting on the bench outside the long-range apparently, if he wants to come grab them.”

“Oh I suppose so, oh exulted one. Any further orders for me, my Lord and Prince?”

_Oh cut the snark love and get on with it_ Tony thought very pointedly in Loki’s direction with a raised eyebrow.

_You love me anyway_ came Loki’s amused reply.

Tony huffed exaggeratedly and stepped down into the centre of the penthouse, J.A.R.V.I.S bringing up the holograms around him. 

_Maybe_ he conceded with a final playful scowl in the mischief God’s direction. Then the window for the conference video chat opened up and his attention was pulled away.

“Stark! Where the hell have you been?!” Tony stifled a cry of frustration as the first of the screens came online; he hated dealing with General Monroe. “We’ve half a dozen hostiles in our orbit and no way to get the Orbital Defence program running without your damn start up codes! This is exactly why I demanded we hold a copy of them too!”

Tony sighed dramatically, more than fed up of having this argument with the various leaders of the DOD. He had far more important thing to worry about right now. 

“Yes well _sorry_ General. I was a bit preoccupied by being off-planet and almost freezing to death and just generally trying not to die. And Jay has the codes too. We had this discussion. With the President. And the UN.”

“And your damn butler won’t share the codes without your permission so your argument is entirely invalid! What the hell are we supposed to do if you’re off planet permanently in the future?”

_Ask Bruce or Steve. They have the codes too_ he snarked back silently, unwilling to say so aloud and give Monroe an excuse to target the two men.

“Gentlemen! If we could please concentrate on the threat to our planet please and save the petty name calling for later?” President Ellis, his own video uplink having just finished connecting, cut across the beginning of the disagreement just as Tony was gearing up to retaliate out loud with a different remark. Instead, he grumbled under his breath and punched the codes into the pad J.A.R.V.I.S brought up.

“Sequence initiating sir, satellites moving into position.” Jay’s announcement was confirmed by both NASA’s and JAXA’s representatives, and the two scientists immediately turned back to their own screens to coordinate with the other space agencies around the globe.

“Thank you Mr Stark, I’ll let the UN know you’re on it. And honestly Mr. Stark, what on Earth have you done to your hair?”

“Just trying out the whole Æsir aesthetic thing for a bit Matt Matty Matthew, Mr President Sir,” Tony smirked at him with a wink, “Got a new wardrobe too. Oh, and Pepper sends her love. Probably. I haven’t actually asked.” The President gave him a stern look but refrained from commenting further, before nodding and switching off his screen.

That left Tony with just Monroe to deal with. Joy.

“You know,” he quipped after several moments of awkward silence, “the Secretary of Defence is a much nicer person that you are.”

“Stark!” came the barked reply, “I care very little for your opinion. Nor do I appreciate your blatant disregard of authority or your disrespect for both your superiors and your country. Your continual refusal to cooperate has deprived your government and your military of hundreds upon hundreds of technological advances and defences which would have saved the lives-”

Tony smiled sardonically at the screen, gave the General his middle finger and cut the video feed. 

_Ah blessed stupidity-free silence_ he sighed to himself in relief as the hologram blinked off; _if I had a dime for every time I’d heard that rant from a member of the military I’d be a billionaire. For a second time._

_He was a rather fascinating example of mortal idiocy darling._ Tony huffed another laugh at Loki’s wry tone, and looked over to where the other God was facing his own set of live-feed video screens, his back to Tony and the room.

_He’s a total asshole you mean?_

Loki’s head tilted slightly and he paused; I think that asshole is rather too mild an insult actually. Tony could hear the smirk in the words and shook his head fondly as he turned back to monitor the movements of the Stark Orbital network.

Those Alien bastards wouldn’t know what hit them!

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

 

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** TIME STAMP [14:31:22EST-0500]  
INITIATE [PROJECT_ ORBITAL] 

**O.R.B.I.T.A.L:** TIMESTAMP [19:31:24EST±0000]  
INITIATING [PROJECT_ORBITAL]  
INPUT REQUIRED FOR RUN [INPUT_CODES]

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** RUN [INPUT_CODES]  
[CODES: 0132##########]  
[CODES: 2332##########]

**O.R.B.I.T.A.L:** CODES ACCEPTED  
RUN: [PROJECT_ORBITAL?]  
[CONFIRMATION_REQUIRED]

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** RUN [CONFIRMATION = YES]

**O.R.B.I.T.A.L:** CONFIRMATION ACCEPTED  
INITIATION [COMPLETED]  
SUB-PROGRAM INPUT REQUIRED [NAME?]

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** RUN SUB-PROGRAM [DEFENCE_PROTOCOL]

**O.R.B.I.T.A.L** RUNNING SUB-PROGRAM [DEFENCE_PROTOCOL]  
EXECUTE [SATELLITE_ALIGNMENT]  
EXECUTE [WEAPON_SEQUENCE_ONE_THROUGH_TWELVE]  
EXECUTE [BARRIER_POWER_UP]  
INPUT REQUIRED [WEAPON_SEQUENCE_TARGETING]

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** RUN PROGRAM [VOICE_SEQUENCE_TOWER]  
EXECUTE [“Sir, Stark Orbital is powered and awaiting your input.”]

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** INPUT AQUIRED [SOURCE: USER_MR-STARK]  
[VOICE_RESPONSE: “Awesome Jay, bring up the virtual targeting system.”]

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** RUN [TOWER_HOLOGRAM]  
RUN [USER_INTERFACE_ORBITAL_TARGETING]  
RECEIVING INPUT [VIA: USER_MR-STARK]  
EXECUTE [FOLLOW_USER_INPUT]

**O.R.B.I.T.A.L:** INPUT ACQUIRED [VIA: TERMINAL_J.A.R.V.I.S; USER_MR-STARK]  
EXECUTE [FOLLOW_USER_INPUT]

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** EXECUTION SUCESSFUL [FOLLOW_USER_INPUT]  
INPUT ACQUIRED [SOURCE: USER_MR-STARK]  
[VOICE_INPUT: “HA! Take that you alien bastards!”]

**J.A.R.V.I.S:** AWAITING FURTHER INPUT  
RESUMING BACKGROUND PROTOCOLS AND SUBROUTINES

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

 

“HA! Take that you alien bastards!”

The Stark Orbital defence project worked like a dream. Hardly surprising, Tony thought, given that he was the one who had designed and helped build it. 

Tony began the project only a few months after the Battle of New York. With thoughts and nightmares of the wormhole and what lay beyond it filling his head day and night, he’d been unwilling to leave Earth in its current almost undefended positon. And so he’d dreamed up Orbital. 

Initially, the project started as a single large-scale-satellite-slash-space-station-slash-launch-platform capable of manoeuvring around using scaled up repulsor technology. It was designed to house a number of space-worthy Ironman armours that could operate under J.A.R.V.I.S’s control -or if necessary, independently- that could sabotage or destroy incoming hostiles from space.

After the Mandarin debacle though, the President was on pretty good speaking terms with Pepper; a consequence of being kidnapped together apparently, though Tony still thought it was more than a little weird. Pepper mentioned Tony’s defence project to him during one of their usual weekend calls and suddenly a week later, Tony found himself with the UN’s permission to make the project a whole lot bigger and the funding to make it happen.

So now instead of a single space station up in orbit, there’s an entire network of Arc powered platforms and satellites. The Stark Orbital Network, or O.R.B.I.T.A.L:

**O** uter  
**R** esistance  
**B** ases  
**I** nsuring  
**T** errans  
**A** re  
**L** iving

Well, that’s what Tony likes to say it stands for anyway. It’s probably pretty obvious that what he actually did was call it Orbital and then fit a bunch of words to the letters. Still, he thinks the acronym works.

Going from the live feeds he was receiving, so did the Network itself. The half a dozen or so small ships that were hovering just beyond the atmosphere lasted all of thirty seconds once the closest satellites closed formation and opened fire. Clearly who or whatever had built them hadn’t considered giant repulsor blasts when designing the defence systems and shielding. Tony is not complaining.

They clearly also hadn’t learnt from the last invasion attempt with the Chitauri either, because as soon as the largest of the ships was reduced to scattering piles of rubble, more than ninety percent of the aliens causing absolute carnage all through New York dropped dead where they stood.

Tony knew this had happened not through the cameras feeding him and Loki visuals of the city, but because he could suddenly hear Hawkeye whooping and cheering like a hyperactive teen through his comm system. And because not ten seconds later Steve began one of his usual enthusiastic post-fight monologues.

“Good job everyone! I know the fighting was unexpectedly intense and uncontained, but we worked well as a unit and coordinated well both the Fantastic Four and the X-men. You all adapted well enough to working with the Einherjer for the first time, but we need to try and run some team work exercises with them. There were a few moments there where we were hindering each other more than helping. But, as I said, you all coped fantastically with the situation and handled it with admirable professionalism!”

“Steve,” Tony laughed over the open line, his hands flicking through live-stream CCTV footage of the city, “Steve, you beautiful, beautiful man. Never change yeah? But can we save the pep talk for after we’ve picked off the last of stragglers? I’m watching a group of the remaining gross orange monsters converge on the School of Nursing on Staten Island, and there’s only a dozen unfortunate S.H.I.E.L.D Agents there to defend it. And there’s another large group blowing holes in the outside of the Yankees stadium. Actually I can see three bands of aliens making merry hell unchecked in the Bronx. Ooh, and yet another group tearing up the south end of Brooklyn; the Manhattan and Brighton Beach area.”

“I was getting there Stark,” Steve replied with good humour, “Hawk, Widow, go with Torch and Invisible and deal with the Staten Island problem. Warriors Three, you’re already in the Bronx, so find one of those groups and take them out. I’m bringing Hulk and Iceman with me to your location so we can deal with the other groups when you’re done. Thor? You’re still in Manhattan right? Can you swing by Times Square, and grab Fantastic and Thing and fly out to Brighton beach? Ironman, Loki, get your selves to the stadium stat. I have a feeling that group’s gonna cause the biggest problem and you two are packing the most firepower. I’ll get Coulson to send you backup ASAP.”

A series of affirmations sounded over the comms as Steve finished issuing orders, Tony and Loki adding their own to the mix. That done, Tony turned to face Loki and silently hoped that the other God wasn’t going to suggest teleporting to their location again. Tony would much rather suit up and fly. Unfortunately, it seemed Loki had pre-empted him.

_Before you ask me about putting your Ironman armour on Tony dearest, I’d first consider the bulk of your current attire._

_Yeah, I suppose your right,_ he thought back rather glumly, _these jackets and boots are not gonna fit under the suit very well. I’m already cringing just imagining the chaffing!_

_We don’t have time to wait for you to change either. I hear it took you long enough to get it on in the first place. Getting it off will undoubtedly go no quicker._ Again, Tony was forced to concede that Loki probably had a point.

_Swords, daggers and magic it is then_ he sighed. _And my mini heads up display. I’m not going without J.A.R.V.I.S if I can help it._ Out loud, he added, “Jay, send up a Viso-HUD yeah? The set built into the blue glasses please.”

Once he had strapped the glasses on and loaded the data feed, and pulled his throwing knife from out of the window, he turned to ask Loki if he too was ready to leave. Loki grinned his agreement and stepped towards him, his hands reaching out to hook their arms together.

“Oh no no no! No more teleporting! If you want me in a fit state to fight, we’re finding other means of transportation!”

Predictably, Loki completely ignored him and grabbed his arm anyway. Next thing he knew he was on his knees dry retching onto the asphalt of East 161st street, fervently hoping that all his atoms had reassembled in the correct order. 

“Oh god I hate you. Oh god why! I’m gonna die!”

“Oh do cease to exaggerate so Tony. Come, it sounds as if this squadron of Varshgnaq have breached the stadium’s outer wall and are running amok inside. Up you get now.”

Tony, in a fully warranted show of defiance, simply groaned and flopped onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut against the overly bright sunlight. This only prompted Loki to sigh loudly and haul him upright with a vine of forest green seidr, wrapping it around Tony’s chest and arms and pulling. 

Tony groaned again, and allowed his head to flop about with the movement. Only once he was standing more or less under his own power did Loki release him with a smirk, pat his cheek and stride off towards he open doors of Gate Four. 

With little other choice, Tony scrambled to catch up. Vaulting over the ticket barriers, they dashed towards the nearest stairwell, using seidr to jump up a dozen steps at a time. They emerged at the top of the stadium looking towards the big screens, a large hole broken into the wall beneath them. Below them, two dozen… Varshnack(?)(is that what Loki said?) had herded a small group of civilians into the centre of the pitch, every one of them looking terrified and uncertain. 

Tony felt Loki’s disgust rising up, colouring their bond with a harsh slash of red-anger. Then, the Chaos God vanished from Tony’s side and reappeared with a shimmer in the centre of the group below, broadsword in hand. 

Tony hesitated for only a second before pulling Extremis to the surface and launching himself down towards the closest of the orange lizard aliens, leaving a wake of gold and blue sparks behind him. He landed square atop his target, causing them both to go careening forward into the shimmering green shield that had spouted from Loki’s hand and domed down over the group of frightened people. 

The alien collided with it head first, collapsing in a heap at its base. Tony slipped a blade from out of his sleeve and punctured its throat with it. Rolling away smoothly from the gasping and choking being, Tony sprang back to his feet and used his momentum to barrel towards his next target. Distracted as it was attempting to blast through Loki’s shielding with its laser weaponry, it fell easily to Tony’s spinning attack. 

Loki materialised again opposite Tony, his sword cleaving cleanly through three of the hostiles with one sweep, even as a forth staggered and clutched at its eyes, one of Loki’s knives now protruding from them. The Mischief God then vanished yet again, only to reappear directly behind the alien turning its rifle upon Tony. The offending attacker gurgled as Loki’s broadsword pierced through its chest and Tony twisted upwards with a flair of seidr, tucking into a barrel roll and blasted the being attempting to use Loki’s own tactic against him with a stream of blue-gold. 

Dropping back onto his feet behind the other God, Tony ducked instinctively and Loki rolled smoothly over Tony’s back, using him as a pivot to dive blade first towards the next wave of aliens. From his crouched position, Tony flung his sword laterally behind him, causing it to spin through the legs of the three beings approaching from that direction. All three screeched piercingly as electricity arced from the hilt-stone and coursed up their bodies, leaving them spasming lifelessly on the ground. 

Throwing his hand out, Tony pulled on his blade with his seidr, aiming to pull the pommel end back into his grasp. The sword arched like a boomerang and swung back towards him as he jumped upwards again, vaulting over a stream of laser fire. He caught the hilt as it zipped past below him and allowed himself to be pulled along by its motion, skidding to a halt several metres away beside Loki.

Loki’s eyes were alight and shining as they paused to grin at one another, before turning as one to their last two remaining opponents. The two creatures were backing away hurriedly, heads twisting from side to side as they looked about at their fallen allies; Tony noticed that more than half had one or more of Loki’s extensive collection of throwing knives jutting from their bodies.

Beside him, Tony felt Loki twitch in irritation as they watched the two aliens continue to attempt to beat a hasty retreat.

Then Loki had again dematerialised and moved behind the two. The Jötunn’s mouth moved thrice silently, forming the shape of the runes Kauno, Thurisaz and a third Tony did not recognise and the two orange aliens erupted into violent green flames. 

The miniature inferno lasted only a handful of seconds before winking out as suddenly as it appeared, leaving no trace of the two beings that had been caught within its blaze. 

“Remind me to never piss you off,” Tony commented dryly, rubbing his free hand through his still-crackling hair. Loki grinned back unrepentantly.

“Fortunately for you are yours dearest, that particular flow sequence only produces such a dramatic outcome when combined with the Vashgnaq’s unique physiology.”

“Oh good,” Tony replied blinking, thinking back to all the times he and the other Avengers _had_ pissed Loki off during their past spats. “What was that last rune by the way? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Kauno, the firebrand rune, Thurisaz for directed force and Hagalaz, the wrath of nature.”

“So…? You? You um, you wrathfully used their own nature against them to banish them in forceful firey blaze? Neat! And surprisingly logical for magecraft.”

“All seidr is logical Tony, as I have told you repeatedly. It’s just not the same logic that governs Midgardian science.”

“Ah! But it is! It’s actually just electron energy levels and particle physics. I’ll explain to you and Bruce properly later but- Oh look! Guess who’s late to the party! Hey Coulson! We already killed everyone for you.” 

“Stark. Loki,” the Agent greeted them mildly, “So I see. We’ll take over from here. Everyone else is also just wrapping up so the Captain’s calling a rendezvous at the north end of central park. We’ll meet you there when we’re done here.”

“Awesome! Cheers Agent-man! Come on Lokes!” Having learnt from his previous experience, he didn’t give Loki the chance to hook his arm and skipped off hurriedly towards the hole in the stadium wall instead. Loki watched him bound off, waved an arm to dissipate the dome still protecting the civilians and then materialised next to Tony and grabbed him anyway.

Tony was pretty sure you could have heard his stream of curses as they teleported away again all the way in Washington D.C. 

 

\------------------------------------------*-----------------*-----------------*---------------------------------------------

 

Twelve million light years from Earth can be found Messier 81, also known as Bode’s Galaxy.

It belongs to the constellation Ursa Major, and due to its relative proximity to Earth, it has been studied extensively since its discovery in 1774; its proximity also makes it a popular target for amateur astronomers. 

Much like the Milky Way, Messier 81 is a spiral galaxy; a supermassive black hole exists at its centre and arms of stars, gas and dust rotate about it in a flat disc.

Within one of these arms, a dying Red Giant can be found, and orbiting this is an extensive asteroid belt. The belt, much like the sol system’s own, is formed from the shattered remnants of a failed planet and its moons.

Deep within this belt, a singular asteroid drifted silently.

Atop it, a group of worker drones scurried, mindlessly following the orders given to them by those superior in intelligence and imagination.

They shot a spike-driver down into its core, eager to gain access to the rare minerals housed deep within its body. When the spike-driver reached its target, the asteroid quivered once and then ruptured. 

Three parts formed as a result of the rupturing and separated, floating away in opposite directions; the smallest third began to move slowly towards the centre of the belt. A single drone stood motionless upon its surface, quietly observing the vibrant red and blue hues of the pulsating nebula filling the space-scape beyond the belt. 

The asteroid chunk glided silently past the throne and the drone hastily averted its eyes. 

Before the throne a messenger trembled on his knees, his face pressed into the loose dust covering the floor of the barren moon’s highest plinth.

The messenger had brought news from Midgard. News of the attack and of The Vashgnaq. News of the failure of both. 

News of the failure and death of The Other. 

The messenger trembled on his knees, his face pressed into the loose dust covering the floor of the barren moon’s highest plinth and prayed.

Prayed that Thanos did not take his life as recompense for the failures of others. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Thanos threw aside the bloodied blade.

“Prepare the fleet. We move on Midgard.”

The messenger’s prayers had gone unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for effectively disappearing. Third year happened. :(
> 
> Mon Father the computer scientist nodded his approval at the J.A.R.V.I.S - O.R.B.I.T.A.L section. I'm informed that it shouldn't be in capitals because it uses more memory(?) and thus costs more(?) because something something six bits wide on UK computers(??), lower case = 25% memory saving, ASCII only uses seven bits(??!!??), is good, much computer code. Yay. Wow.
> 
> I am but a humble rock-licking geologist and beg your forgiveness computer peoples :'D
> 
>  
> 
> [Rune mcgubbins](http://www.sunnyway.com/runes/meanings.html)  
> [More rune mcgubbins](http://www.runemaker.com/futhark/kauno.shtml)  
> [Messier 81 basic info](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Messier_81)
> 
>  
> 
> My dad also says to use this when your internet is playing up:  
> IF(.NOT.INTER)THEN HAMMER  
> As a geologist, I will happily provide a hammer :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Just a quick note to say that I haven't disappeared permanently; I'm a postgrad research student with a thesis screaming at me to write it, my free time is pretty much non existent right now! I'll get back to posting as soon as I can, but rest assured, this fic will not go unfinished :)
> 
> So errrmmm if anyone fancies harrassing me on [Tumblr](http://insane-sociopath.tumblr.com/), you can do that.  
> I mean I don't actually pay much attention to it tbh but I know a lot of people do use it a lot.  
> Oh and I had a wave of inspiration and started another, ~~considerably shorter~~ Ironman/Avengers Fic: [The Secret](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3120119/chapters/6761321)


End file.
